The Likelihood of Twice
by StarrChilde
Summary: Unable to remain the king's mistress, Commander Gwenna sets out to rebuild the Wardens. A new Darkspawn threat is on the horizon and one sharp-tongued apostate has her rethinking her position on the meanings of duty, heroism and love. Rated M for later.
1. Greetings

_This story is my first attempt at fanfiction. The Dragon Age story is really the first one that has ever inspired to write about characters and themes that are not my own. (Enter requisite disclaimer about ownership here.) This entry is the first of, what I hope to be, many chapters in a saga that chronicles the adventures of a Dalish warden and Anders. I hope you all enjoy it!_

Gwenna felt the electric prickle of power before she could identify its source. The air in the keep was heavy with an uncanny heat. She could sense, as always, the familiar taint of Darkspawn, but there was another magic here as well. As she charged up the stone stairs, hot on Mhairi's heels, other familiarities began to invade Gwenna's senses. Dimly, she could hear the low crackle of smoldering flames. As she rounded the bend that took her into the fortress loft, the acrid sweetness of charred flesh assailed her nostrils. She arrived just in time to witness two things. First, was Mhairi removing her sword wetly from the torso of a dead Hurlock, and second, was a blast of flame that enveloped the far corner of the room. A handful of remaining Darkspawn crumpled, shrieking, into a fiery heap on the floor. Gwenna squinted through the fog of lingering smoke, trying to assess the situation. She could vaguely make out a pile of expired bodies, some Darkspawn, others not. A lone man appeared to be standing among them. She strained to make out his face.

Then, for half a beat of her heart, Gwenna's blood ran cold. She felt her pulse, rapid and flimsy, hammering at her throat as flickering light glinted red and gold on a lock of sandy-colored hair. She felt stalwart knees lose resolve as shadows played along the chiseled line of a stubbled jaw and a thin, aquiline nose. Her breath froze in her chest as hazel eyes, always so full of resolute sadness, fixed their gaze on her.

'_He's here!'_, she thought, breathlessly.

But…. No. This was not the same man. These eyes, though sad still, were lighter, and more heavily lined at the corners. This man was taller and leaner, and likely a few years older. He was, she now realized, clad in long robes of Tevinter fashion and carried a carved wooden staff that stood easily her height and half again. A mage then, but not a Warden. Certainly not the one she had initially mistaken him for. How had this man been the only one to survive here?

As he looked up to see two armored officials nearing the entrance, Anders had to suppress the urge to flee. He was outnumbered, for starters and, quite literally, backed into a corner. Even if he could make his way out of the keep, the courtyard was littered with guards. Besides, if his guess was accurate, the elven officer with the tattoos was none other than The Hero of Ferelden herself, commander of the Grey Wardens. There had been much talk of her impending arrival during his brief stay at Vigil's Keep. Anders had gleaned enough from those conversations to know that making an enemy of this woman was a complication that he neither needed nor wanted. No, it was best to let his tongue do the maneuvering here. The commander had a reputation for being fierce, but fair. Perhaps she would be willing to see reason.

The Grey Warden's gaze was making him uncomfortable. Her eyes were fixed in his direction, and a series of strange emotions seemed to pass across her face as she apprised him, none of which were clear enough to make out. Anders cleared his throat nervously and spoke.

"Er, I didn't do it!" He joked awkwardly, gesturing toward the pile. " However, Biff here made the funniest gurgle when he went down."

The commander blinked twice. "Right. And who are you supposed to be?"

"You may call me Anders, my dear lady. I am a mage and, sadly, a wanted apostate."

Again, a storm cloud of emotions moved across the commander's face. Anders flexed jittery fingers. "We were stopping here on our way back to the circle. Just a short rest. Now they're all dead, shame."

Anders's eyes followed the warden's gaze as it made a considering pass toward several corpses in Templar armor, then settled back upon him.

"That's convenient", she commented dryly.

"Yes, well, the Maker moves in mysterious ways," Anders replied. Then, more earnestly, " I'll tell you what. Why don't I help you out here, and then we can discuss what comes next later, once these bastards have been properly put to rest, yes?"

The warden commander eyed him warily, or perhaps it was only curiously. After a long moment, she gave him one curt nod and turned on her heel to exit.


	2. Contemplation

It had been a strange few days. In the time since she'd first arrived at Vigil's Keep, Gwenna had been constantly putting out fires. It was definitely not the welcome she had been expecting. No Grey Wardens remained, assumedly all having perished in the Darkspawn attack. The Keep was veritably empty, save for a smattering of soldiers still valiantly attempting to hold the fort. Varel, seneschal of Rendon Howe's former estate, had survived, but even that was a point of unrest. The Darkspawn had staged an ambush, something that they should not, by all accounts, have been intelligent enough to organize. Yet when Gwenna had discovered the seneschal upon the battlements, he was being held captive by a group of undeniably sentient Darkspawn; Sentient and _speaking_. The fiends had been in the midst of deciding Varel's fate when Gwenna and her new companions had arrived and rendered the point moot. It was a very disturbing turn of events indeed.

Not that strange and unusual was unfamiliar territory for Gwenna. Her very existence as a Grey Warden, the taint that coursed in her veins, was something in itself preternatural. From the moment Duncan had come to her tribe seeking aid against the Blight, Gwenna's life had become forever removed from the ordinary. Despite this truth, she had struggled to achieve some small level of equanimity in the months following the defeat of the archdemon, however fleeting.

Initially, Anora had beseeched Gwenna to stay on at court, so that she might train the royal guard in combat tactics. It was a position of great honor, and certainly the queen respected her as a warrior and as a champion of Ferelden, but there was more to the story than that. In an act of desperation following the Landsmeet, Gwenna had pleaded with her beloved, the newly appointed king Alistair, not tot give up on their relationship. The marriage to Anora was merely political, she had implored him tearfully. Nothing needed to change, she had begged. Alistair, ever the bastion of duty, had been reluctant to acquiesce. Anora, on the other hand, was surprisingly empathetic, no doubt still feeling the sting of her own loss. The queen was able to convince her betrothed that she would not be averse to another woman in his life, or in his bed for that matter, so long as she was kept abreast of the situation. Encouraged by this, Alistair had relented and Gwenna was requisitioned to remain at the palace as Captain of the Royal Guard.

It was not to be, however. No matter how deeply Gwenna loved Alistair, she was simply not up to the task of being the other woman. She had been nearly physically ill throughout the coronation and subsequent royal wedding. It was a lightning bolt to her soul each time she watched the newlywed monarchs retire to their quarters together. Increasingly, her audiences with Alistair became awkward and their intimate moments strained. Gwenna's resentment became a tangible entity between them, and Alistair retreated into a cold bitterness. Before the month was out, Gwenna had appointed a suitable replacement for the Guard and set forth for Orlais.

She could have gone then, as she had come now, to claim her place as Arlessa of Amaranthine, or gone to any number places in Ferelden where her presence would have been welcomed and even celebrated. However the very soil of the land she once had helped save was now the stuff of sadness and regret for her. There was not a corner of the nation where she would not be reminded of Alistair and her erstwhile companions, of those heady days when heroes saved the world and true love conquered all. How pathetically naïve she had been. As it turned out, 'Hero' was little more than a pretty title and true love conquered nothing if one just so happened to have been born to the lowly Dalish elves.

Still, despite it all, she was here once again, in Ferelden. Orlais had been lovely, and her time there in the last several months, rebuilding the Orlesian faction of the Grey Wardens, had been a welcome distraction. In the end though, Ferelden was Gwenna's home, and she had responsibilities here. Judging by the events that had transpired just preceding her arrival at Vigil's Keep, it appeared the timing of her return was no coincidence. The Maker yet had plans for her, it seemed. Gwenna let out a long sigh.

"Commander?" A gruff voice addressed her. Oghren. "Commander, are you still with us? You're not daydreaming about me again, are ya'?"

Gwenna dragged her thoughts back toward the present and turned to face the smirking dwarf. "Rest assured, Oghren", she retorted, "If I were dreaming about you, you'd know it, because my daggers would be twitching."

"Ha!" Chortled Oghren, "What a coincidence! My dagger twitches when I think of you too, Warden!"

Gwenna grunted in disgust, shaking her head rapidly in an attempt to ward off the mental image. Oghren chuckled, pleased with himself. From across the room she heard the mage snicker under his breath.

The mage. _Anders_, Gwenna breathed inwardly. What in Thedas was she going to do about that one? He had proved to be an immense asset in clearing the invading Darkspawn out of the Keep. He had kept his mouth shut when necessary, fought admirably, and was a pleasant-enough-seeming fellow otherwise. He also happened to be a wanted fugitive and was, very possibly, maleficarum to boot. There was a good chance that it was he, not the Darkspawn, who had murdered the Templars that had brought him here.

" _But we are all murderers in one way or another, are we not?_"Zevran's words rang in her mind, _"It is all in how one chooses to look at it."_

There was an element beyond simple morality that was affecting Gwenna's judgment on this, she knew. It was a critical piece of the puzzle, one that, she had conceded to herself, was likely causing her to be lenient in her thinking. Anders reminded her of Alistair, and it made her like him. There it was. He looked like Alistair, certainly, enough so that they could have easily been brothers, but it was more than that. It was something in the slightly awkward way that Anders carried himself in moments when he let his guard down, in the sharp, sarcastic wit that almost concealed a desperately raw vulnerability. Then there was that cat, the scrawny mouser that had attached itself to the mage almost immediately, and whom Anders had been sneaking into his bedchamber at night, along with saucers of warm milk.

Of course, here was also the issue of Nathaniel to consider. He was the son of Rendon Howe and had been caught lurking like a thief on Keep property. The guards had thrown him in the dungeons and left him there for Gwenna to deal with upon her arrival. Nathaniel had intended to exact his revenge on her for the death of his father, the former Arl, but Gwenna suspected that, deep down, he knew well what kind of man his father was. There was a terrible despair in Nathaniel. He was intelligent, however, and well trained in many areas. Apparently he had put up quite a fight with her guards. He could prove useful to her the coming days as well.

All of this thinking was making Gwenna's head hurt, but she would have to make a decision regarding these two men before tomorrow. Scouts had reported that an entourage of the Royal Guard was less than a day's journey from Vigils Keep. They would be looking to her for answers and she'd better be prepared to provide some. Gwenna was not yet accustomed to her newly attained status, and she found it a galling task to decide another man's fate for him.

At least Oghren had come to the Grey Wardens of his own accord. It was funny to think that, despite the raging pain in the arse he'd been during their previous travels together, the dwarf was currently the least of Gwenna's worries. Say what you would about Oghren, but he was loyal, if nothing else. Surly and vulgar though he may be, she had to admit she'd been happy to see him.

The fire in the brazier had begun to dim and the conversation had dwindled, all parties either too weary or too lost in their own thoughts to chat. Gwenna rose to address the room.

" I think I'm going to retire for the evening. I imagine tomorrow will be an interesting day… for everyone." She nodded toward each of them. "Gentlemen, Mhairi." With that she made her way to her bedchamber, knowing that sleep would still be hours away.


	3. Conscription

The driving rain that had plagued Amaranthine for days gave way the following morning to a dense fog that settled like a wet blanket over Vigil's Keep. The air held a dank chill, the kind that seized one's bones and refused to grant them leave for warming. Anders had spent the better part of the morning huddled by the fire, silent and brooding. Nathaniel was busying himself with the repair of his grandfather's bow, the one he had discovered amongst a cache of family treasures in the basement stores. Oghren had disappeared into the cellars, no doubt in search of some untested spirit with which to break his fast.

The commander had also been absent all morning, in conference with the estate's financial advisor, Ms. Woolsey, who had been excessively eager to brief her on the state of affairs in the arling. Apparently, the nobles would be assembling to pledge fealty to their new Arlessa upon the arrival of the Royal Guard this afternoon, and there was much the Commander of the Grey still needed to understand about the political workings of her arling, or so Ms. Woolsey had kept insisting.

All of this talk of nobility and royal soldiers had left Anders on edge. He had no idea what to expect from the day's events, but he knew that whatever transpired, it was out of his hands. Today would mark the fifth day he had spent in the company of the Grey Warden Commander, and he still had little to no insight into what she might be thinking. She had been amicable enough during the course of their adventures thus far, but she had clearly kept herself guarded. While they had convened by the fire after last evening's meal, she had barely spoken a word to anyone, though he could read in the storminess of her eyes that her thoughts were tempestuous.

She was something of an enigma, the commander. Anders, who could normally get a quick read on just about anyone, couldn't seem to pin this one down. She was a striking woman, this Commander of the Grey, small and fine boned as elves often were, with moonlit skin and hair the color of embers. An intricate tattoo of Dalish design traced perfectly the delicate structure of her face. Her eyes were a shade of deepest amber, a hue that, when reflecting firelight, became nearly as red as her hair. The effect was startling, but also stunning. Still, beneath that ethereal beauty, something tenebrous lurked; something that roiled just below the surface, threatening, at any moment, to disrupt her stoic resolve. Whatever it was, Anders had watched it come to the surface as they were killing Darkspawn together. Some fought battles for glory, others out of a sense of duty. The commander harvested her vigor from someplace more sinister. Then again, he supposed one didn't end up becoming a slayer of archdemons without weathering a few scars along the way, of both the physical and metaphorical varieties.

Still, it made her unpredictable, and that made Anders uneasy. With his arresting Templars conveniently out of the picture, the commander was the only one who knew his true identity. Of course, Nathaniel and Mhairi also knew, but Nathaniel was in a position similar to that of Anders himself, and Mhairi deferred to the warden in all things. So what _would _the warden commander do with him? Would she keep his secret as an expression of good will or would she hand him over, already tied to the stake? It was impossible to say.

She had been a close traveling companion of the king, Anders knew, during the Grey Wardens' expedition to end the blight. In fact, it had been rumored that it was Gwenna the Grey herself who had, single-handedly, put Alistair Theirin on the throne. King Alistair, who had been raised by Templars before being drafted into the Grey Wardens, was notoriously conservative in his position on all things Magi. Was the venerable commander equally beholden to the Chantry in such matters?

Before that train of thought had an opportunity make another pass through Anders' thoughts, Seneschal Varel burst into the room, with the commander and Ms. Woolsey at his heels.

" The Royal Company is at the gate!" Declared the seneschal, "It would appear that we have an unexpected visitor."

" The king rides with them!" Cried Ms Woolsey, excitedly.

If Anders had thought to be shocked, the inkling was promptly interrupted as Oghren, already well on his way to intoxication, came barreling down the hall, clapping the commander loudly on the back as he approached.

" Ya' hear that, Warden", he bellowed, "It'll be like a proper family reunion at the Keep t'day! Who's bringin' the champagne?"

The warden, who was usually quite tolerant of Oghren's rowdy humor, did not seem amused. In fact, if Anders hadn't known better, he would have even said that she flinched.

_'Just startled'_, he told himself. But there was a strange expression fighting to take control of her face. What was it? Was she… frightened? Angry? Aghast? As usual, it was gone in a flash and Anders just couldn't manage pick it out in time.

The denizens of Vigil's Keep assembled outside to greet the Royal Guard at the gate. To Gwenna, the company looked like something out of a fairy tale, all fine livery and colorful pennants, with Alistair at its helm, resplendent in elaborate royal armor. Even his horse was white. It would have been perfect, she thought, if they didn't already know how the story ended.

_'You may be king now'_, Gwenna thought bitterly, _'but you're still just a royal bastard." _Why, for the blood of Andraste, had he felt the need to come here?

Alistair dismounted his horse and pulled off his helmet, revealing rumpled hair that left him looking a touch less regal. "It looks like I came a little late", he said, " Too bad. I rather miss this whole 'killing Darkspawn' thing."

'_How droll'_, thought Gwenna. It was everything she could do not to roll her eyes. Alistair, who had been clearly gauging her reaction, frowned ever so slightly, but he quickly recovered.

"Tell me, what's the situation?"

'_Thanks be to the Maker that Varel likes to hear himself talk'_, thought Gwenna as she listened to seneschal regale Alistair with the events that had transpired at the Keep to date. As it was, she did not trust her voice to form speech at this moment, never mind the words she might say if she did so.

Alistair listened carefully to Varel's report, then turned his attention back on Gwenna. "And what about you my- Er, Commander? You weren't badly hurt, I see?"

Gwenna swallowed hard. Hot tears burned at the back of her eyes, though whether from heartbreak or fury she could no longer tell. She wanted to scream at him to save his half-assed attempt at consideration. Where had this heartfelt concern for her been during the Landsmeet? Where was this compassion when he had used her to get himself on the throne and then tossed her out like yesterday's tavern waste? She wanted to beat at his pristine armor until it was as dented and flawed as she felt. But she could not bring herself to give him the satisfaction of her emotion.

Instead, she replied icily, " I'm fine, Alistair, but this makes things difficult."

Again, Alistair looked wounded, but this time he took the hint. All business once again, he embarked upon a cursory speech about the task at hand, about having faith that she would prevail despite the odds against her, or something to that effect. Gwenna has stopped listening, until Oghren chimed in from behind her.

"Hey! What am I, chopped nug livers?" he demanded.

Then it was Anders. "From the smell, that's not a bad guess!"

Gwenna couldn't resist a smile. Alistair couldn't help but notice.

Unbidden, Gwenna thought, '_I wonder if Anders noticed? I wonder exactly _what _Anders has noticed.'_

Oghren, who had been explaining to Alistair his intention to join the Grey Wardens, addressed her suddenly, bringing Gwenna back into the moment. "Where's the giant cup?" He jabbed her with a finger as he asked. " I'll gargle and spit!"

'_Oh, Oghren'_, Gwenna shook her head affectionately. She had to laugh.

"You're not allowed to spit!" she scolded him.

This time, it was the mage who chuckled. "Joining the Wardens, eh?" He addressed the dwarf, "Well, good luck with _that_!"

Then, from within the royal ranks, a female voice emerged. "King Alistair!" A Templar knight cried, "Your Majesty, this man is a dangerous criminal!"

Alistair, confusing her meaning, considered Oghren. "The dwarf is a bit of a ass, but I wouldn't go that-", he began.

"She means _me_!" Anders interrupted him. The note of defeat in his voice was palpable. He cast a glance toward Gwenna then, as if to say, 'Thanks, but the jig is up'. Little did he know, Gwenna still had a trick up her sleeve.

The Templar was talking to the king, reciting a laundry list of indiscretions that were accredited to Anders, not the least of which was murder. Anders made a feeble attempt at defending himself but, certain that his fate was sealed, gave it up before he'd truly begun. Under his breath he muttered, "The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble."

Alistair regarded the mage coolly. " I guess there isn't much to say then, is there?" Then to Gwenna, "Unless you have something to add, Commander?"

Gwenna gave Alistair a sly smile. "As a matter of fact, _Your Majesty_," she drawled, " I do. I hereby invoke the right of conscription."

The look of appalled shock that passed across Alistair's face was almost as satisfying as the look of unadulterated relief upon Anders'.

The Templar was outraged. "What? Never!" she cried.

Alistair's eyes had gone very wide but, to his credit, he gave no other indication of his reaction. He regarded her momentarily, then spoke, "Are you sure this is wise, Gwenna?"

She drove her fingernails into her fists at the use of her name. Alistair continued.

"This man is believed to have murdered Templars. You don't know what he's capable of. He could even be maleficarum, for all you know."

"Alistair", she spat, forgetting herself, "my wardens are gone. I have talking Darkspawn to contend with, and you are concerned about the moral implications of a little blood magic? Save it. I need these men. My request stands."

Alistair balked visibly, but Gwenna knew she had him.

"I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the right of conscription, no? I suppose I will allow it."

With that, Alistair and his company took their leave. It had been a long journey after all, and they would need rest and a hot meal before the fealty pledging ceremony commenced. Gwenna was relieved to have it over with, for the time being. She didn't notice Alistair looking back in her direction as he walked away. She was practically in a dead run, hurling herself in the opposite direction, trying to make it to her quarters before the inevitable breakdown became a public one. She was nearly inside when a hand caught her arm.

"My Lady, I just wanted to thank you for… well, for saving me, I suppose. I really don't know what I would have done if they'd taken me back to the circle again."

It was Anders, and as much as she wanted to in that moment, it was impossible for Gwenna to flee from this man when he only wished to express his gratitude. She turned toward him reluctantly, her face already wet with tears. When Anders registered this, it stopped him cold. Gwenna watched the recognition come into his expression, as the puzzle pieces slowly fell into place. He sighed heavily, understanding. A very honest sympathy reached out to her from Anders' green-gold eyes and, for a moment, she thought he was going to hug her. Instead he took her hands gently, gazing directly into her puffy, tear stained face.

"You saved my life today, Dear Lady. Know that I know that."

Gwenna didn't trust herself to speak, but the mage didn't seem to expect her to. He dropped her hands as gingerly as he'd grasped them and gestured toward the door. She nodded meekly and made her way, reeling, toward the solace of her bed.

Anders felt a drop of moisture in his palm. Instinctively, he licked at it. Salty. Tears, from where the commander, from where _Gwenna_, had wiped her eyes on her hands before he'd held them. As he watched her walk toward the manor, body sagging like an upright noodle, Anders felt needles of electricity gnawing at his fingertips.

_'Now, why is it'_, he thought to himself, _'that I suddenly have an unbearably compelling urge to watch a very large lightning bolt cleave the skull of our esteemed King of Ferelden?'_


	4. Fealty

_Just a heads up, I changed the order of things around a little here. It just seemed to make more sense in a 'real life' timeline. My apologies to the purists. ;)_

Gwenna had fully expected the fealty pledging ceremony to be tedious, but she had not prepared herself for this level of mind-numbing absurdity. As if more than an hour and a half of suffering through trumped-up bloodlines and false promises wasn't bad enough, she was now required to mingle. She had tried to be gracious, truly, but her patience was waning. Honestly, if she had to hear one more angry complaint about the running of an arling that she had literally _just _taken governance of, Gwenna was dropping a shock bomb into somebody's drink.

It wasn't so much that the nobles had expressed concerns; it was the nature by which they came. It had become painfully clear over the course of the afternoon that many of these aristocrats protected their own personal agendas above all else, yet preferred to wrap it up in a pretty mantle and pass it off as actual concern for public welfare. Gwenna suspected that she cared more for the prosperity of this arling than most of those who had held authority over it for decades. It was beyond maddening!

Not to mention that at least half of them were conspiring against her; or so it was claimed by the wayward courtier who had spoken out against them, clandestinely of course. Not that she was all that surprised. If the whole Teryn Loghain debacle had taught her anything, it was that the nobility were not to be trusted. Her next move would be deciding what to do about it, but that was a conversation to be had with Varel at a later date. For now, she would simply have to smile and play along.

Thankfully, she had made her rounds among most of the guests and, on account of Alistair's presence at the event, her position as main attraction was perfunctory at best. In fact, the king was already surrounded, and Gwenna was glad for the opportunity to duck away.

Her warden recruits, who were not considered to be persons of import by the majority of guests, had been relegated to the far end of the hall. Gwenna swiftly made her way hence.

She approached Nathaniel and Mhairi, who were conversing quietly in the corner. Nathaniel bore an expression of absolute melancholy. Without thinking, Gwenna inquired into his sullen demeanor, and was given a curt reminder as to his current status as expat bourgeoisie.

" Once, not so long ago, I would have stood among them. Now I am consigned to the corner like a naughty child," her reminded her, "I suppose I'll just stand here and keep my mouth shut, so as not to offend anyone's delicate sensibilities."

Gwenna cringed at her own insensitivity. " I just can't get anything right today, can I?" she remarked cheerlessly

Mhairi was sympathetic. "Why don't you get yourself a drink, Commander? There's a cask by the entrance, full of a fine brew. You sound as though you could use it."

Gwenna gave her a gracious smile. "Truer words have never been spoken, Mhairi. I think I'll do that."

"Just follow the smell of dwarf," Mhairi called after her, "You can't miss it!"

As promised, when Gwenna reached the cask, Oghren did, indeed, appear to be holding it up.

"How's the ale, my friend?" Gwenna asked him.

"Whoa, Wha? Who's there?" Oghren blurted. "I was just keeping my nose to the dust. You know, watching out for the Shleets."

"The what, now?"

" The shleets! One of the lads told me about them. Says they go around looking like ordinary pairs of pants 'til ya' turn around. That's when they strike!"

"Pants." Gwenna repeated dryly.

"Right! You've heard of 'em!" Oghren brayed, "Pants that eat yer eyeballs!"

She shot a glance back over her shoulder toward Mhairi, mouthing the word, _'Wow'_, as she did so. Mhairi's snort was audible.

"After they're done with you they just _wander off _on they're unnatural pant legs!" Oghren continued.

"Ah," Gwenna teased him, "but you haven't heard the best part."

"Besss part?"

"Yeah, after they eat your eyes they lay their eggs in your empty eye sockets." She waggled her eyebrows at him.

Oghren bristled, "What kind of a moron do you think I am? Shleets don't lay eggs! Thass prespos… Thasss preprost…. Thasss-"

At this point Oghren began to teeter drunkenly and then hit the floor with a thud. Gwenna looked back toward Mhairi, panicked. Mhairi, bless her, was at Gwenna's side instantly.

"Don't worry, Commander, I'll take care of it. The nobles are all so busy haranguing the king, I don't think anyone's noticed." She motioned beckoningly toward Nathaniel, who grudgingly obliged, and the two expeditiously removed Oghren from the premises before anyone could be the wiser.

Well, one person definitely had noticed, as he was looking pointedly in their direction, but Alistair was too beleaguered to get away. Gwenna had been creating a new discipline out of avoiding his gaze all day. Presently, she decided to become intensely interested in the sudsy contents of her tankard.

"Have you found something interesting in there?" Anders voice came suddenly from beside her. Funny, she hadn't noticed him there before.

_'The man certainly has impeccable timing,'_ she thought, undecided as to whether or not it was facetious.

"How are you holding up?" He addressed her again, this time more gently.

Gwenna smiled ruefully, keeping her eyes on her drink.

When she didn't answer him, Anders backpedaled. "You don't have to answer that. My apologies. I shouldn't have stuck my nose where it doesn't belong."

"No, no. It's fine." Gwenna turned her gaze to him. "It's just been an exhausting afternoon."

"Yes. So I can imagine." Anders agreed.

"It's just not what I'd envisioned when I thought about what my life would be like once the Blight was quelled and there were no more Darkspawn to kill."

"Well, there are _always_ more Darkspawn to kill, I'm afraid. I take it you're not finding yourself well suited to politics?"

Gwenna grunted derisively. "Where I come from, people are not permitted to own land, much less rule over it. I find there to be a lot of hypocrisy."

"Interesting," Anders commented, "Perhaps you and I are more alike than I suspected. So indulge me. If becoming a powerful politico wasn't part of your agenda, what _did_ you have in mind for life beyond Darkspawn? Having lots of wild parties?"

Gwenna grinned. "That sounds like a good start!"

Anders chuckled heartily. "I like the way you think, my good lady! Seriously though, what would you do if you didn't have to be a warden?"

" I don't _have_ to do anything, Anders."

"But, does anyone ever really leave the Grey Wardens, do you think?"

"I expect some do, sure."

"Perhaps. Though once you've completed the joining the taint is always with you, no?"

Gwenna shrugged, conceding. After a long moment, she turned to him, "You know, Anders, I can't just _let_ you go. I'm obligated to either conscript you or turn you in to the Templars"

He started to speak but she put her hand up to silence him. "That said," she continued, "if it so happened that you disappeared in the night— " Again, she shrugged.

Anders gave her an appraising look. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it. What was there to say? This woman, who had known him but a matter of days, who had gone out of her way to rescue him from certain death, and to whom he probably owed his life, was now handing him his freedom on platter. Just like that. His mind was racing.

Suddenly brimming with nervous energy, Anders clenched and flexed his hands restlessly, eyes panning the room. As he did so, by sheer happenstance, he locked eyes with the king. Alistair, Anders had been astute enough to observe, had been casting surreptitious glances in the commander's direction all afternoon. The commander, strangely, did not seem to be aware of it.

'_Or is pretending not to be,'_ the mage realized. He ruminated for a long moment on the implications of the whole Alistair-Gwenna dynamic. That's when it hit him.

The commander was letting him go before he had the chance to leave. She was, Anders understood abruptly, staging a preemptive strike. She was already anticipating that he would throw her goodwill to the wind, given the opportunity. It stung, but it wasn't entirely off the mark. Escaping is what he did best, after all.

'_I am such an idiot!'_ Anders chided himself. Desiring freedom was one thing, but looking a gift horse in the mouth was quite another. As was biting the hand that feeds you, or cutting your nose of to spite your face, or any other trite cliché that was applicable in this situation. He was beginning to understand that, were he to leave, it would make him no better than the ravenous group of sharks congregated behind them. No better, for that matter, than the king who, if previous actions were any indication, wouldn't know loyalty if his boot got stuck in it. Considering the elf-warden presently, Anders became acutely aware of just how lonely it must be to be haled as a hero by the very people who deliver your betrayal. He let out a long, ragged sigh, cursing silently.

_'Bloody hell!'_

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Commander." This he said aloud.

Gwenna eyed him doubtfully.

" Look, by all accounts, I should be dangling from the end of a rope by now, or worse. Thanks to you I am, instead, drinking a mug of delicious ale and chatting up a thoroughly charming woman. It seems only fitting that I should uphold my end of the bargain, don't you think?"

To this Gwenna said nothing, but looked at him for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she nodded tersely, as if to say _'We shall see'_, then hastily departed. Anders was reminded of their initial encounter, just days prior. It felt like longer. Somehow, despite an overwhelming sensation that he'd just jumped voluntarily from the frying pan to the fire, he couldn't seem stifle the grin that was now threatening to overtake his face.


	5. Anger and Longing

_Finally getting to the good stuff. I had a ton of fun writing this one. Hope you guys like it! _

As Anders made his way down the long corridor, he was shocked to hear voices coming from within the commander's quarters. As he neared, it became apparent that the tone was less than friendly. He froze, not certain what to do. Gwenna's voice erupted, hot with rage.

"I don't know what you expected to gain from this, Alistair! You've made your choices and I've made mine. I don't see what else there is to say."

"How can you say that? I've thought about you every moment since you left! I didn't _make _my choices. My choices were made for me!" Alistair pleaded.

So the king was in the commander's quarters. From what Anders could gather it was not a social call. He knew that he should turn around and leave them to their argument, but he was strangely paralyzed where he stood.

Gwenna spoke again, angrily. "Seeing as you were not held at sword point during your coronation, I 'm not sure that your monarch-under-duress argument holds a whole lot of water, Alistair. Besides, you miss my point. I'm not speaking of kingship. I'm talking about your choices regarding _us_."

"What options did I have? Truly? You know the reasons behind the decisions I made. It was my duty as king. I wouldn't even be king if it hadn't been for you. Or don't you remember that part?"

"Duty!" Gwenna spat. "I'm so _sick_ and _tired_ of hearing about _duty_! Duty to whom, exactly? Certainly not to me! Not to the people of Ferelden! They regard me as a hero! The nobility then? It's most assuredly _their_ bourgeois sensibilities which you threaten to offend by even _suggesting _that an _elf _might get her plebian ass near their precious throne!"

"Are you so eager to sit on the throne then"? Alistair taunted.

"Don't make me look to my blades, _Majesty_," warned Gwenna savagely.

"Things are as they are, Gwenna. You can't change opinions overnight. I am responsible for a kingdom now and I have to do what's best for _it_, even if that's not what's best for _me_."

"Can't change opinions, Alistair? Or just yours?"

"I love you, Gwenna! I wanted you to stay!"

" Want me to stay? So that I could watch you and Anora build a life together as I lurked in shadows like a street urchin waiting for a crumb? So that I could be reminded day in and day out about all of the promises you made to me, but are fulfilling for _her_? When you say that you're doing what's best for your people, what you are saying to me is that _I _am not good enough!"

" I- No!"

"I will say this to you, Alistair Theirin, and then nothing more. Regardless of how much I do or do not love you, every time I look at you I am reminded of how I am less than!"

Silence.

"Please go."

More silence.

"**Now**, Alistair!"

As Anders watched the doorknob turn, he frantically cast an acolyte level cloaking spell and pressed himself against the wall, praying that the king was too distracted to sense his magic. Once Alistair had disappeared around a corner, Anders counted a full 60 seconds before he would allow himself to exhale and dispel the glamour. It was another full minute that he spent staring at the door of Gwenna's bedroom, debating with himself on what to do next.

In the end, he relented. When he knocked on her door, Gwenna's answer came in an angry burst.

"What do you want!"

"Um… it's Anders."

The door opened.

"Hi," said Anders, sheepishly.

"Hi," replied Gwenna, "Sorry about that."

"Not at all. Is everything alright?"

" Yes. No. I- How much of that did you hear?"

Anders weighed his options. He knew he needed to tread lightly, but wasn't certain how to proceed. He chose honesty.

"I heard everything," he admitted, " I'm sorry. I feel like a slime for having listened. I wasn't eavesdropping! Well, not on purpose, anyway."

She gave him a chilly look.

" I was already on my way, I swear! I didn't exactly know what to do once it started. I froze."

That seemed to disarm her. "I appreciate your honesty. I already knew you were there anyway."

"You did? How?"

"I could sense your magic. Or I could sense _some _magic, and you're the only mage here. What were you doing out there, anyway?"

Anders hung his head, ashamed. "Casting a cloaking spell. So the king wouldn't see me", he confessed.

"Nice." Gwenna teased, causing Anders to blush furiously. Then, "So, what can I do you for Anders?"

"Well, I noticed you hardly touched you supper this evening, and I figured you were probably starving by now. Since I was in the kitchen anyway… I thought you might like a snack."

Gwenna eyed him quizzically. "That's sweet of you, Anders. Unexpected, but sweet." She moved to take the basket he held.

" See, the thing is, I brought enough for two. I hope you don't mind. I thought you might like some company as well. You've had a hard day, I know."

"You thought I might like some company, is it?" Gwenna grinned widely.

Again, Anders blushed. "Not _that_ sort of company! Not that you're not- Because of course you are, but—Ugh, _Maker! _I sound like a rambling idiot, don't I?

"A little, but that's kind of my speed right now," She continued to razz him, "Come on in."

She set forth digging through the drawers of a bureau as he entered, apparently looking for a blanket to spread out for their makeshift picnic. It was the first moment since she'd opened the door that Anders had gotten chance to actually look at her. He was accustomed to seeing her in armor, though of battle weathered or ceremonial variety depended on the occasion, yet never anything else. Now, having retired to her bedchamber, she was dressed for sleeping. Not in the usual dressing gown that most women wore to bed, Anders noted with both amusement and approval, but instead she was clad in a pair of thin woolen hose and a linen tunic that left very little to the imagination. Her hair, which she typically wore tightly bound in coiled plaits at the nape of her neck, hung loose, falling in crimson cascades to her waist. In the dim torchlight of her bedroom, those strange reddish eyes shone like two molten pools of lava.

He watched her as she spread a quilt over the floor, noting how the thin fabric of her garments caressed the contours of her tiny frame as she moved. For one so battled hardened and slight, there was still a magnificent softness to the curvature of her body. Anders felt heat rising to his face and prayed that his robes would not betray the very masculine reaction he was beginning to have toward her. He quickly turned and busied himself with readying the food, cursing his own maleness.

After reciting a particularly dull portion of the Chant to himself, Anders felt confident enough to deliver their meals without embarrassment. He placed two bronze plates and a large drinking bladder on the blanket and knelt opposite Gwenna, who sat with her back to the fire. "Here you are my lady, Amaranthine's finest. Bon Apetit."

Gwenna smiled welcomingly. "So, what do have here?"

" I was able to procure, for your culinary enjoyment, a loaf of freshly baked bread, a selection of cold roast meats, a wheel of fine Antivan cheese along with some elderberry jam. I hope it's to your liking, my lady." Anders recited with a flourish.

"And what about that?" Gwenna inquired, motioning toward the canteen.

"Ah, now that is something extra special. I was able to smuggle the last of the honey mead out of the cellar, just for this occasion."

"Ooh", said Gwenna, uncorking the bladder and taking a long draw. "That _is_ special. I won't even ask how you managed _that_."

"I have my connections," said Anders with a wry smile.

"A scullery made who's smitten with your ponytail, no doubt!" Gwenna goaded him playfully. "Or is it with your staff! Ha!"

Anders scoffed in feigned offense, " Now that's just naughty. And you leave my ponytail out of this! It's never done anything to you!"

"Perhaps not," said Gwenna, squinting her eyes suspiciously, "but I've got my eye on it. You have to admit Anders, your hair is extremely well coiffed. I can see where the mages get their reputation."

"Oh, you awful harpy!" Anders exclaimed. "You might want to let me up soon, you know. You're getting my clothes dirty!"

"Oh, now that would be a shame."

Anders was no longer capable of a retort, as he was on the floor laughing. Had he ever had this much fun at his own expense? He could feel that he was red up to his ears, and grinning like a fool, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Gwenna handed him the mead and he took his own hearty swallow.

Gwenna had begun eating ravenously, her appetite seeking to belie her small stature. Through a hefty mouthful she asked Anders to pass her the jam, which, once obtained, she did everything but guzzle.

"Commander, you have jam all over your face!" Anders mock-chided her. She smiled a crumb-y smile at him and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

"Adorable," he told her, sarcastically.

She presented him with an obscene hand gesture and cleansed her palate with another swig of mead. When free to speak she said, " you know Anders, you've really got to stop calling me 'Commander'.

"Well Oghren's known you forever and he still calls you 'Warden'."

"True, but he has his own reasons for that. Something about 'Gwenna' being too soft of a name for me. I believe his exact words were", she affected the dwarf's gruff tone, "Why don't you just start calling yourself Nancy and be done with it!"

Anders, who had just taken a drink, spit mead clear across the room.

"Holy Maker! Did that just come out of your _nose_?" Gwenna exclaimed.

Anders was laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes and could only nod in response. This caused them both to collapse into peals of laughter on the floor.

"Oh, I haven't laughed that hard in years. I needed a good laugh, " said Anders, recovering.

"Tell me about it." Gwenna agreed.

They sat silent for a moment, considering each other.

Then, more somber, Gwenna asked, "So have you thought much about the joining tomorrow? "

"Ah yes," replied Anders, " The joining. That's coming up isn't it?"

"I'm being serious. Are you nervous at all?"

"Should I be nervous?"

Gwenna was silent for a beat, and then nodded.

"That's… comforting." Anders replied warily, "What makes you say that?"

" I was kept in the dark prior to my joining, and I think it's only fair that you know what can happen. I was one of three other recruits to undergo the ceremony on the day of my joining. I was the only one who survived."

Anders eyes widened, but he said nothing. Then, randomly he asked, "Gwenna, why were you so willing to let me leave, when we spoke this afternoon?"

" I –? You still could, if you wanted."

"Tell me why."

" I don't want you be someplace that you don't want to be. You don't owe me anything, Anders"

"Don't I?"

"No."

"Are you so eager to see me gone, then?" His golden gaze probed the depths of her eyes.

Gwenna swallowed. "No."

Anders' hair had begun to come free of its bindings and he pulled the cord to let it loose. Gwenna watched with rapt interest as he absently ran long fingers through honey-colored locks. She had to suppress the urge to reach out and touch their silken softness as they fell in loose waves around his collarbone. Suddenly, she felt as though she were seeing him for the first time.

Anders was a beautiful man, inarguably. His long bronze hair enticingly framed the sculpted lines of his face, as hazel eyes reflected green and gold in the firelight. His mouth was full and soft, and opened into a wide smile that warmed his entire appearance, and caused the thin skin at the corners of his eyes to crinkle. He was tall and lean, but well muscled, with broad shoulders and strong, eloquent hands. His were the sort of broad, long-fingered hands that seemed perfectly suited to playing a musical instrument_. _

_'Or caressing a woman'_, thought Gwenna.

He moved to put his hair back up into its ponytail, but she grabbed his wrist, shaking her head. Unable to contain herself, she ran nimble fingers through the tangles, smoothing them.

Anders was keenly aware that their faces were mere inches apart, and that Gwenna had shifted her position so that she was kneeling above him. He could fee the gentle warmth of her breath on his face. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. He remained utterly still.

Their eyes locked, and a tangible current arced between them. Not of magic, but of something equally powerful. She moved in to close the distance between them, pressing her lips to his so that they just touched. Anders parted his lips slightly, but otherwise made no move to consummate the kiss. They held that position for what seemed like and eternity. Gwenna wondered at his reluctance, as she could clearly see the growing need in his eyes, as well as in other places.

A razor thin margin of control remained in tact and Anders was fighting desperately to keep control of it. It was difficult to think, with her hands in his hair and the press of her body against him. His loins were aching and even his teeth felt as though they were quivering with unmet desire. He could not let himself surrender. For the first time, in what felt like eons, he wanted more from a woman than what her body could offer him.

It was illogical. It was completely irrational, considering he'd known her less than a week, but Anders was surer that he'd been about anything, that what he wanted from this woman was her heart. Given the volatile state of Gwenna's emotions currently, Anders knew that to lose resolve now could be his death sentence. He would not squander whatever small opportunity he might have to win her love, for the sake of one night in her bed.

She, on the other hand, was relentless. She began probing the tip of his tongue with her own, flicking it deftly back and forth, her delicate fingers lightly tracing the bones of his face. It still wasn't even a full-fledged kiss yet it was, somehow, intensely erotic. Anders' manhood throbbed and a low moan escaped his throat. Gwenna returned his enthusiasm her own purr of approval.

'_This has to stop. Now.'_ Thought Anders through a bleary haze of desire. He grasped Gwenna by the shoulders and pushed her gently, but firmly, away from him. It killed him to see that she looked wounded. He was having trouble speaking. When he did, his voice was hoarse and breathless.

"Not. Yet." He managed between shaky breaths.

He was relived when her expression changed into one of understanding and even… respect? She spoke.

"So… when you say 'yet', does that mean I can trust you to still be here in the morning?"

He smiled winningly. It made him look terribly young. "You can bet your life on it, Commander. Or better still, you can bet mine."


	6. Death and Rebirth

Gwenna awoke the next morning to hot daggers of pain stabbing at the walls of her eye sockets. She sat slowly up in bed, rubbed her eyes, and cloudily surveyed the room. It looked as though a typhoon had passed through in the night. The blanket, which she and Anders had used for dining upon, was somehow crumpled into a ball in the middle of the floor. Plates of unfinished food had been cast carelessly aside and, from the looks of things, the mice had enjoyed a feast of their own as she slept. The bladder of mead, empty and discarded, had been abandoned about a foot away from the bed. She swung her legs around and kicked it away from her with as much force as she could muster.

A shaft of light that filtered in through a crack in the shutters was entirely too bright. This was a problem, she knew, but for several moments was completely unable to figure out why. Then it struck her: the king's company had intended to ride at dawn, yet it was well past first light. Why had no one awakened her?

Gwenna flew out of bed and began dressing herself with haste. She realized, with some dismay, that if she moved too quickly, her head began to swim and her stomach lurched. How had they managed to kill an entire flagon of mead between them?

_'Ugh.' _It was shaping up to be another very, very long day.

She made her way frantically down to the commons, where she found the entire population of the Keep, royal company included, simply lolling about. Had they been waiting for her to arrive? No, that didn't make sense. She made her way toward the dining hall in search of someone with answers. It was Mhairi whom she encountered first.

"Maihri! What's going on? Why did no one wake me?" She demanded.

"Oh, Hello Commander! We were planning to send someone for you in a bit, but everyone thought it best to let you sleep. We figured you had earned your rest. "

"I see," replied Gwenna slowly, still uncertain. "Why has the Royal Guard not prepared to ride? Dawn broke hours ago."

"Ah, that's good news as well!" Maihri beamed. "The king announced this morning that, as one of Ferelden's last remaining Grey Wardens, he felt it was only fitting that he stay and attend the Joining!"

"Really?" Gwenna forced a smile. "Well isn't that nice?"

Her eyes found Alistair, where he was breaking his fast on the opposite side of the hall, and fixed him with an icy glare that read: _'What do you think you're doing?' _The king, for his part, simply looked sad.

Gwenna wished that she could sympathize with his plight. There was a part of her that longed to arrive at place of understanding and acceptance about this whole, sordid mess, but the hurt was just too deep. There was no going back to the way things were and forgiveness was still a long way off. She forced her thoughts away from Alistair.

. _'On the subject of sordid messes…' _She found herself scanning the room, searching for the tailored lines of fabric amidst a sea of clattering armor. _Where is Anders?_ The mage was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Mhairi," she tried to sound casual, "Any word on Anders? I haven't seen him wander through yet. The joining is scheduled to commence in just over an hour."

Mhairi thought for a moment then answered, "Now that you mention it, Commander, no. I haven't seen him. He's usually not one to sleep in. Odd."

Gwenna was, once again, reeling. She needed urgently to sit down, lest she vomit on Mhairi's shoes and humiliate herself further. '_Stupid, stupid girl!'_ She chided herself. With thumb and forefinger, she massaged the space between her brows, working hard to focus her thoughts.

Several moments later a new voice addressed her. "Ah, Commander, there you are. I've been looking all over."

Gwenna's eyes shot open. _'Impeccable. Bloody. Timing'_.

Mhairi exclaimed, "Anders! We were just talking about you. Have you just gotten up?"

"Not at all! I was up before the birds, actually. Had a bit of an errand to attend to," he answered, "an errand with you in mind, Commander." He slid a steaming mug of murky liquid in Gwenna's direction. She frowned at him, confused.

"Elfroot tea," he clarified. "I gathered the herbs this morning. I find it's nothing short of a miracle for curing— " he cast a sideways glance at Mhairi and corrected himself. "Well, I remembered you said that you were feeling a bit under the weather. I thought this might do the trick."

Mhairi furrowed her brow in concern. "Commander, are you ill?"

Gwenna had to force back a snicker. In fact, she was dangerously on the edge of hysterical laughter, with or without provocation. That, or of breaking into a series of maniacal fits, which would culminate in copious amounts of drooling and speaking in tongues. Given the shattered state of her psyche at present, it could really go either way.

With measured calm she answered, "I'm fine, Mhairi, no need to worry. I'm sure it was just something I ate."

It was Anders' turn to suppress a chuckle. He managed it gracefully.

"Well, this is a bit bitter, but it'll cure what ails you," he said. "You'll be right as rain in no time."

"That was very thoughtful of you, friend" Mhairi complemented.

"Yes," agreed Gwenna, "Anders to the rescue, once again."

At that, Anders colored bashfully. "I do what I can, Lady"

"Indeed," Gwenna smiled. "You are a welcomed sight this morning, Ser Mage."

Anders shied again, gazing timidly at her from underneath a velvety fringe of eyelashes. A double row of eyelashes, Gwenna noted, understanding why Anders' eyes always appeared to be rimmed with a thin line of kohl.

_'Pretty,'_ she thought.

She was suddenly acutely aware that they were sitting in a crowded hall. Though their words had been the epitome of propriety, Gwenna knew that she and Anders' coquettish demeanor threatened to belie their formality. If Mhairi had noticed the loaded dialogue or lingering eye contact, she was polite enough not to mention it. Gwenna silently chastised herself for behaving like a moonstruck adolescent, and prayed that no one else had noticed the indiscretion.

Sometime later Gwenna and her recruits were joined in the main assembly hall by seneschal Varel and the King, for commencement of the Joining. The four recruits stood at attention, and Alistair stepped forward to address them.

"Sers Oghren, Nathaniel, Anders and Mhairi. You stand before me today as soldiers and heroes in the fight against the Darkspawn, and as champions of Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine. As your king, and as a Grey Warden, I am grateful for the honor to witness your Joining. You shall now taste the blood of your enemy, and align with us as brethren in our fight against the Darkspawn.

When he had finished, Gwenna stepped forward to speak. "Greetings to you, honored recruits. As Commander of the Grey Wardens, I hereby welcome you into the ranks of this ancient and elite order. We alone have the power to smite the Darkspawn, and have twice saved the people of Thedas from the plague of their evil. By imbibing the blood of the Darkspawn, you not only accept the terms of this great responsibility, but also prove that you possess the strength and endurance to prevail. Also, in partaking of the blood of your nemeses, you shall gain the power of insight into their dark maneuverings. You will maintain a permanent link with the fiends that shall forever grant you vision into the workings of their sinister minds."

She took up the ritual chalice and ceremoniously filled it with a thick, noxious fluid; the blood of the Darkspawn.

"Recruits!" She orated, "Do you agree to drink the ritual blood and thus submit to the taint of the Darkspawn?

"We do, Commander," came their low murmur.

"Then we shall proceed. Ser Oghren, I begin with you. Drink, and become a Grey Warden."

She passed Oghren the goblet, which he eyed disdainfully.

"I thought the cup would be bigger," he complained gruffly, "This isn't a comment on my size, is it?"

'_So much for formality,'_ thought Gwenna.

"This is the chalice that has always been used, Oghren. Just drink," she said.

With that, Oghren tipped the goblet upward and promptly drained its contents. When finished, he emitted a long, loud belch. There was a ripple of nervous laughter among the recruits. By force of an old habit, Gwenna cast a glance at Alistair, rolling her eyes. He responded with a shake of his head and a familiar wry smile. She chose to ignore the pang of sadness it elicited.

Oghren's eyes had rolled back into his head and for a matter of seconds he convulsed violently. Then it was over and he was again himself.

Alistair commented amiably, "My dwarven friend, that may have been the least calamitous reaction to Darkspawn blood I've witnessed to date. I suspect your penchant for strong swill has served you well today!"

"I'll drink to that, Your Majesty!" Laughed Oghren.

Next to complete the ritual was Nathaniel. He drank deeply from the chalice, though not as deeply as Oghren. His reaction was decidedly more intense. His muscles went completely tonic and rivulets of blood trickled from his eyes and mouth. He was forced to his knees by powerful spasms, yet he never lost consciousness.

'_More resilient than he seems,'_ noted Gwenna approvingly.

Next, it was Anders' turn to partake. As she presented him with the goblet, Gwenna's gut became a wrecking ball of anxiety. Anders raised the cup to his lips, looking her directly in the eyes as he drank. Gwenna drew a long, careful breath.

Anders convulsed violently. His eyes rolled backward and shimmied in their sockets. A white froth formed at the corners of his mouth. Seconds later he collapsed into a heap. Gwenna stared at him, stricken.

'_No, no, no, no, no!'_ she pleaded silently

For several moments more, Anders' body was wracked with seizures then, abruptly, he went still.

"Anders!" Gwenna cried, panicked. It was just short of a shriek. Then she was on her knees beside him, pressing her ear to his chest, listening frantically for a heartbeat.

Seneschal Varel pulled his dagger from its sheath and held the blade beneath Anders' nostrils. A faint, but distinct condensation developed on the cold metal.

"He lives," declared Varel, "He will wake in time."

Gwenna exhaled loudly in relief, dropping her head into her hands. Alistair looked on with jealous disquiet but, for once, she was completely unaware of him. Varel had fetched two burly serving lads to attend to Anders. Gwenna dispensed her orders.

"Take the mage to his quarters and see to it that he is properly attended. Unbind his hair and attire him for rest. His recovery may be lengthy." Her eyes never strayed from him as the servants lifted Anders' limp body and carried the mage out of the hall.

Alistair regarded her coolly. "Shall we proceed with the ceremony, Commander?"

Gwenna forced herself to regain composure. "Of course, Your Majesty."

She handed the chalice to Mhairi. "Are you ready to proceed, my friend?"

Mhairi looked shaken, but nodded bravely. "I have awaited this moment, Commander."

"Then drink, Mhairi, and become a Grey Warden."

Mhairi lifted the goblet to her lips, sipping at it tentatively. When nothing occurred, she drank more deeply. Several moments lapsed with no observable reaction, and then Mhairi began to gasp for breath. The wheezing continued, and her throat swelled rapidly. He coloring took on a sickly pallor and her lips went from pink to blue to purple. Her eyes bulged wildly.

'_This is what death looks like'_, Gwenna realized, even before Mhairi fell. She watched, helplessly, as her friend drew a final, rattling breath. Once again, Gwenna fell to her knees, cradling the head of her fallen comrade in her lap, rocking, as one would with a child. She remained like that, staring blankly ahead in numb shock, until Varel interrupted.

"Commander? Commander!"

Gwenna looked up at him as if just realizing he were in the room.

"Commander, we should really begin making preparations."

Gwenna looked slowly down at Mhairi and then back to Varel. She nodded. As he led her out of the hall, she felt as though she were walking through molasses. She was so stupefied she forgot to congratulate her new wardens before she departed.

After several long, grueling hours of funeral planning, Gwenna was longing to escape into the comfort of a hot bath. She was intercepted, however, on her way to the aquifer by and angry caller.

"You are unbelievable, you know that?" came an indignant voice from behind her. It was Alistair.

'_Of course it is,'_ thought Gwenna.

"Excuse me?" she retorted.

"An _apostate_, Gwenna? Honestly! Will you stop at nothing to exercise your spite for me?" Alistair accused her.

"I beg your pardon, Majesty, but exactly what are you implying?" Gwenna retorted hotly.

"Okay, can we just stop with all the snide '_Your Majesty_'s? You know full well that I speak to you not as your king, but as your— as man to woman," he finished.

"Fine, Alistair, but if you have a point, please make it. I have spent the better part of the day making funeral arrangements for my closest comrade in arms. My patience for this nonsense is running very thin."

"I just hope that your little display during the Joining was that and nothing more. '_Unbind his hair_'? Really? Playing with fire is the surest way to get burned, you know!"

"That's rich, coming from you," Gwenna sneered. "And that _display_ was out of concern for my warden, not that it's any of your business."

"Call it what you like, but if that man turns out to be maleficarum, don't say I didn't warn you."

"That man," Gwenna seethed, "was instrumental in holding Vigil's Keep against the Darkspawn. He also bravely agreed to proceed with the joining, knowing that he may not survive it. I prefer disclosure."

"What other choice did he have, Gwenna? Death by Templars?" replied the king, condescendingly.

"There are always choices, Alistair." She reminded him. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some overdue congratulations to extend to my wardens who remain standing. I suggest that you consider paying them some respect as well." She turned and walked away, once again leaving the king to stand alone, silent and defeated.

Finally clean and fed, Gwenna made her way to Anders' quarters to check on the status of her new favorite apostate. It was evening now and the mage had been unconscious for hours. Upon entering the room, she found Nathaniel in a chair near the bed, holding vigil. She smiled at him.

"How long have you been here?"

"A while", he said returning her smile. "He's been sort of in and out for the last hour or so. Still a bit delirious, I think."

"Why don't you go get some rest? Maybe some food, while you're at it?" Gwenna urged. "I'll take over here."

"Thank you, Lady," said Nathaniel gratefully, "I think I shall."

"It's been quite a day, hasn't it Nate?"

"Indeed it has, Commander," he replied. "Yet, strangely, I don't feel much different."

"Not yet," said Gwenna.

Nathaniel smiled ruefully and nodded.

Gwenna took Nathaniel's place in the watch chair but, deciding she wanted to inspect him more closely, moved to sit on the edge of Anders' bed. The color had returned to his face and his chest rose and fell with strong, regular breaths. Gwenna leaned over him and began tracing the outline of his face with her fingers, just as she done previously, under decidedly different circumstances.

She continued in that vain for some time, caressing Anders' face, smoothing sweat-matted hair away from his forehead. Eventually, he stirred. His eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at her before she even realized he was awake.

"Hello there, Gorgeous!"

Gwenna gasped, "You're awake! Thank the Maker!" Impulsively, she kissed him several times on his face.

"Now _that_ has got to be, hands down, my favorite way to wake up," Anders replied with a cheeky grin.

"You had me worried. That wasn't nice of you at all!" She joked weakly.

"I'll try my hardest not to repeat that blunder." He replied. Then more seriously, "I never thought I'd see you again."

"You're still here, Anders," said Gwenna.

"By the grace of some benevolent force, yes," Anders agreed. "It's got me thinking, this brush with death, about what an ignoble fool I've been."

"Ignoble fool?" Gwenna asked, bewildered. "How so?"

He took her face in his hands. "For not properly kissing you when I had the chance." He touched is forehead to hers. "Can you find it in yourself to forgive such grave stupidity?"

Gwenna nodded, her nose brushing against his as she did so. Anders tilted his head and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss opened between them like waves crashing against the shore. The pace was languid and gentle, but there was a desperate urgency to its intent. Their tongues entwined in a slow dance, creating an elegant ligature between their eager mouths. Anders placed a hand firmly at the nape of her neck and drew her closer. He could not seem to get her near enough. Gwenna wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and melted into the planes of his body. In their minds, the two Grey Wardens spent an eternity in the warmth of that embrace. Eventually, they forced themselves apart, but Gwenna remained curled against him, her face nuzzled into the long arch of his neck. A long, but cozy, silence passed between them.

Anders disturbed the quiet. "So, my dear, how does it feel to be the proud parent of four precious little Grey Warden cubs?" he asked playfully, reaching up to muss her hair.

She stiffened against him and he suddenly felt as though he had failed to discover the crucial piece of an important puzzle. It occurred to him that he had not been present through the end of the ceremony. His stomach somersaulted.

"Mhairi?"

Gwenna shook her head, unsuccessfully choking back a sob. Anders hung his head, a pained expression on his face. Without warning, Gwenna's control failed her outright. Hot tears burst forth from her eyes, and she hiccupped around powerful sobs.

"Oh, Gwen!" Anders' voice was thick with sorrow and he held Gwenna even more tightly. "Good, sweet, noble Gwen," he soothed, stroking her hair. "You've gotten the raw end of it, haven't you my dear?"

"I'm so sorry," she sniffled between sobs, "I should be used to this sort of thing by now."

"Shhhhh. None of that. Just let it all out. I've got you."

Gwenna cried into Anders' chest as if her very soul were trying to escape by way of her tear ducts. Eventually, she fell into a restless, whimpering sleep. Anders held her in a close embrace and rested his face against her head.

At some point, he became aware that he was being watched. Looking up, he saw the king hovering in the open doorway.

_'How long has he been standing there?' _Anders wondered.

Then the king spoke. "It's good to see you awake, Ser Mage. You gave us all quite a scare." There was a decidedly disingenuous note to his words.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Anders replied carefully. "It was a harrowing experience, as you well know. But that which does not kill us, as they say…"

"Indeed. The Commander was quite concerned about you. No doubt she is most glad to see you well. I pray Mage, that you are up to this task. I pray that you are worthy of serving the Grey Wardens in those ways that I am no longer able".

Alistair's voice was oddly thick, and his eyes held an unusual glassiness. Though he leaned against the threshold, he teetered where he stood. When he continued speaking, his voice held an unlikely air of menace.

"I hope you recognize the privilege that has been bestowed upon you."

Inferring his meaning, Anders responded, "That is my prayer as well, Your Majesty. I could never forgive myself were I to betray such a remarkable privilege as this."

The double meaning of the mage's words was not lost on the king. Alistair gave him a hard look then walked away. In his wake, Anders could smell the essence of some strong, stale spirit. The king had clearly been drinking.

_'Not just drinking,' _thought Anders,_ 'The king is drunker than a pirate.'_

Shortly after the lighting of Mhairi's funeral pyre the next morning, the royal envoy set out to ride. Gwenna stood before the king, and the two were in the midst of saying strained goodbyes. Alistair looked unimaginably sad, broken in way that he had not been a few days hence. It hurt Gwenna's heart to see how recent events had affected them so differently. She still loved Alistair, that much was certain, but she knew with renewed understanding that that chapter in her life had ended. They were two very different people, she and Alistair, on two ever-divergent paths. To remain as they had been was to withhold their own destinies. It was an immensely painful truth, but one that was also unavoidable. She could only hope that Alistair would come to this same wisdom in his own time.

As Alistair mounted his horse to ride forth toward Queen, country and the future that awaited him, he did so with a heavy heart. How had everything gone so wrong? He longed to turn back time and start his life over, before the Landsmeet or, better yet, before Ostagar. There were a thousand things between then and now that he would do differently. Of course, that was impossible. As he rode away from Vigil's Keep that cold morning, the King of Ferelden lowered his helm and wept bitter tears for all that could never be.


	7. Convictions

_Just a couple of things. First, I actually have a (somewhat) fleshed out plan for this story now, so that's exciting, lol! Also, I edited the previous chapter a little. Just minor changes to the end, but reading through it, I felt like it just wasn't as polished as I wanted it to be. I'm neurotic. I can't rightly help myself. ;P_

_So, yeah. Anyway, thanks for all of your wonderful reviews so far! I hope you enjoy this latest installment. Anders' favorite little familiar makes his debut! _

The ride from Vigil's Keep into Amaranthine proper had been a long, silent one. The party was lost to a sort of introspective melancholy, its members still punch-drunk and reeling from the events of the week prior. They were beginning to discover what Gwenna already knew; that operating as a so-called hero had often far less to do with glory, than it had to do with tragedy and loss. The road to the good fight was paved with hardship and carnage.

'_It's unfortunate,'_ thought Gwenna, _'that the concept of 'good' is so thoroughly open to interpretation. How does one effectively fight in the name of righteousness when, in truth, truth itself is just a matter of perspective?'_

Many things had begun to look differently to the Grey Warden Commander in recent weeks. The waters of her personal convictions had become increasingly muddied when, just a year ago, everything had been so clear. Despite having been raised in isolation among the oppressed Dalish elves, Gwenna had entered human society as the apotheosis of optimism. She had wholly embraced the structured concepts of right and wrong, and believed that justice would prevail with the righteous, so bright eyed and bushy tailed was she. She had been confident in her understanding of who were the innocents and who were the harbingers of evil. There had been very little room for shades of gray in between. Good reigned supreme over evil. How simple it all had been.

It was, no doubt, this same naïve sense of virtue that had allowed her heart to find a home in Alistair. It was, unquestionably, the decay of these values that was now the hammer on the anvil of their once unrankled love. Gwenna could simply no longer find it within herself to hold these truths self-evident. When she thought about those whom she had met along the way, the major players whose actions had affected the outcome of her experiences, the good-evil dichotomy just didn't add up.

Take Morrigan, for example. She had herself been an apostate, branded a barbarian and a witch, yet it was by her hand that both Gwenna and Alistair lived to tell the tale of the blight. Had the mage's motivations been entirely selfless? Of course they had not, but then again, were anyone's ever?

And consider Zevran, assassin of the Antivan Crows, who had been commissioned by Teryn Loghain to dispatch Gwenna and whatever allies she had rallied. Zev had proven himself to be a genuinely loyal friend and a worthy fighting companion. He had ultimately been lauded a hero in Denerim, so impressive was his prowess on the battlefield. Had Gwenna not spared his life that fateful summer day en route to the royal city, had she killed him on the spot in the name of justice, would it have served her, or the people, any better? She thought not.

It was the same with regard to most of those whom she had come to hold dear along the way. Leliana, Sten, Oghren, now Anders and Nathaniel. Each one came complete with some sordid tale to tell, some unsavory ghost of the past that haunted his or her present. Wynne and Alistair alone could lay claim to purity of mind and deed. Or so it had seemed at the time. Gwenna was beginning to suspect that no one was without his demons.

As she thought about her actions, and reflected on the choices she'd made as to the people she'd come to know, Gwenna had a revelation. Perhaps her conviction to the apparent good had not been so devout as she had once thought. If that had been the case, she would have killed Zevran that day. She would have left Sten to rot in his cage, cast Morrigan back into the wilds, and shamed Leliana for her disreputable past. Instead, she had seen fit to grant them all amnesty from their histories. All along, she realized, it had been the _understood_ merit, not the apparent one, that spoke to her inner sense of honor, the intent and not the deed.

This put her in mind of Anders. From what she knew of him thus far, Gwenna thought of Anders as the quintessential example of intent versus deed. His past was unseemly, by all generally accepted standards. He was an outlaw and a rebel. From what she had gleaned through overheard snippets of conversations among the men, the mage had also been an incorrigible playboy and a shameless opportunist. He was possessed of a dangerous power, and was unabashedly reckless with it. Anders did not play by the rules. The Alistairs and the Wynnes of the world would be quick to label this man as evil.

Yet Gwenna saw something entirely different in the brash mage. He was, indeed, like an untamed horse, wild and audacious. He had little respect for authority, if any at all. In his interactions with most people, Anders was sarcastic and irreverent, impossible to get close to. It was a façade that only Gwenna seemed able to look beyond. Underneath all of that bold impudence, Anders was the same frightened young man who had been dragged off to the Circle of Magi, bound and muzzled like a rabid beast that needed to be contained, lest he contaminate every healthy thing around him. Anders was emotionally broken, angry and mistrustful, but he wasn't evil. An evil man did not go out of his way to perform small acts of kindness while asking nothing in return. An evil man did not refuse a woman's advances out of concern for her emotional stability, or allow his commander to cry on his shoulder, as would a coddled child, ignoring that he, himself, had just returned from the brink of death. An evil man did not… _carry a kitten in his knapsack?_

"Anders!" Gwenna demanded, as the muffled mewling she had heard was answered by the kind of high-pitched cooing usually reserved by nursemaids for use on fussy infants. "Anders, did you bring that damned cat with you?

Anders gave her a guilty look. In the same cloying baby talk he replied, "Ser Pounce-A-Lot wanted to come along. Didn't you Ser Pounce-A-Lot?" The cat mewed at him, apparently asserting its consent.

Gwenna stared at him, blinking. Twice, she tried to speak without laughing. Twice she failed. "_What_ did you just call him?"

"Commander, meet Ser Pounce-A-Lot, esteemed knight of Amaranthine, bane of mice across the land." Said Anders extravagantly, attempting to make the wriggling animal produce something resembling a bow.

If Nathaniel and Oghren were to roll their eyes any harder, they would both be in danger of looking permanently backwards.

Nathaniel said, "Don't you think that name is a little ridiculous?"

"What do you think I should call him?" Answered Anders crabbily. "Frederick?"

"I think Frederick is a cute name for a cat," offered Gwenna.

Anders scowled at her petulantly. "Don't take his side!"

"She is right, Anders, there are_ worse_ names." Insisted Nathaniel.

Anders wrinkled his nose at them and went back to chittering at the cat. "What do you think of your name, Ser Pounce-A-Lot? Do you think it's appropriate?"

Nathaniel fixed her with a look of exasperated disgust that read. '_Do you see what I have to deal with?' _Gwenna clamped her hand to her mouth and loosed a riot of giggles into her riding glove.

Oghren was next in line to torment the mage. Waving and offended hand in front of his face, he guided his horse away from Anders, giving him a wide berth.

"People talk about me stinking up the joint! All I can smell now is cat piss! Little kitty there makes me wanna vomit!"

"Don't listen to him Ser Pounce-A-Lot" Anders cooed, "you smell just fine!"

Oghren gave him an unfriendly look.

Gwenna shook her head. To Anders she said, "You know, Oghren does kind of have a point. Where _is_ that cat, um… evacuating?"

"Well most certainly not in my pack!" Exclaimed Anders, insulted. " I'm not a heathen, for Andraste's sake! When Ser Pounce-A-Lot needs to answer the call of nature he alerts me and I let him out to do his business."

"So you're saying that the cat is potty trained?" Gwenna seemed unconvinced.

"That's exactly what I'm saying! Have you never heard of a trained animal?"

Oghren continued to goad him, "Well just be sure and keep your pussy away from my tent. Got that Anders?"

Anders sneered. "Are you sure about that, Oghren?" He snarked, "It might be the only chance you have to get near one!"

Realizing that the conversation had devolved into adolescent bickering, Gwenna turned in her saddle and did her best to ignore them. Maybe while they were in Amaranthine she could find someplace to procure a sturdy length of rope. That way she could just hog-tie them face down to their horses and enjoy some peace on the way back.

After tending to their horses and asking for directions from the stable hands, Gwenna and company made their way to the Crown and Lion Inn. Two orders of business were on the agenda, find Kristoff the Grey Warden, and try to track down the Dark Wolf. According to Varel, Kristoff had been on the trail of some promising lead regarding the Darkspawn advance, but had been missing for several weeks. The Crown and Lion was the only Inn in town, so hopefully someone would know something of his whereabouts.

The Dark Wolf was something of a personal matter. From what Gwenna understood, he was highly skilled in the art of military intelligence. She planned on repurposing those skills to gather information about her conspiring courtiers. For the right price, she'd been told, the Wolf would be willing to oblige such a request. She had no idea what sort of man she might be looking for, but Varel had assured her that she'd know him if she saw him.

As they walked the wide cobblestone streets, Anders looked positively giddy. He stopped presently before a large conifer, bringing a needled branch up to his nose and taking a long sniff.

"You smell that?" He asked gleefully.

"Pine needles?" Gwenna answered him, bemused.

"No. _That_ is the smell of freedom!" Anders beamed. " It comes complete with the smell of dogs and dust, but the freedom is in there too."

"I think that's just someone baking a pie." Gwenna teased.

"Ah, but the fact that there are pies around to smell is a step up for me! I've led a pieless existence, more or less."

"Somehow I doubt that " Gwenna winked at him.

Anders pretended to look scandalized. "And you tell me I have a dirty mind! What I _mean _is, I had even less freedom in the Circle than most mages. I escaped the tower seven times. After the last time they put me in solitary confinement for a year. Eventually, I'm sure, they would have branded me a maleficar, true or not, and executed me. In fact, I think that's about the point when you swooped in and saved my miserable hide."

Gwenna stared at him, wide eyed. "You escaped seven times?"

"I got pretty good at escaping, after while. I was just never very good at staying escaped."

"Was the Circle of Magi really so bad?"

"The problem is that mages are tolerated, barely. It's like you need permission to be alive! There's nothing a mage can do to prove himself. Everyone needs to be protected from you, The End!"

"I can sympathize, believe me. My kind is not exactly revered in your society. And I agree with you about the mages, for what it's worth.

Anders looked surprised. "You do? Truly?"

Gwenna nodded. "Yes. I believe I do. The way I see it, magic is no different than any other power, or any other or weapon for that matter, in that its potential for evil is only as great as the one who wields it. Swords and arrows don't hurt people of their own volition and neither does magic. And unlike a sword, or an arrow, magic has the potential to heal. Magic can restore and renew and repair. What could possibly be evil about that? It seems shortsighted to brand all mages as dangerous, because a few dangerous people have used magic with ill intent. It's a poor excuse for the kind of subjugation it inspires."

Anders' face became a kaleidoscope of raw emotion. His eyes brimmed with unexpected moisture, which he blinked back furiously. He cleared his throat in attempt to thwart this unbidden response.

"Anders-?"

"I'm sorry." He apologized, embarrassed. "It's just that no one has ever said anything like that to me before. Not ever. I think you might be the first person in my whole life to treat me like I am actually one as well. I can't begin to explain to you what that means, Gwen." Then trying to make light he said, "And to think, here I was, about to make yet another snarky comment and go on about my bitter way,"

Gwenna reached up and stroked his cheek tenderly. " I speak only the truth, Anders. Or the truth as I see it, at any rate." She smiled. "So, humor me, what was this snarky comment you speak of?"

Anders laughed, grateful for her grace. "I was just going to say, that all I want is a pretty girl, a hot meal and the ability to throw lightening at fools, and is that too much to ask?"

Gwenna shrugged, laughing. "Pretty girl, right here. One out of three?"

He grinned. "Not bad. Not bad! Maybe I'm closer to the dream than I realize!" Then, sobering, he said, "You absolutely derail me, you know that? Whenever I'm around you, I have no place to hide."

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, Anders"

"That's not what I meant. It was a compliment, actually, though I know it didn't exactly sound like one. What I mean to say is, I feel as though you really see me for who I am, in a way that no one else ever has. I don't think anyone else has ever tried, to be honest. It's unsettling sometimes though, because… well because…. It's just that…" he let the thought trail off, unfinished.

Gwenna gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You don't have to explain. I understand."

But she didn't, not entirely. As Anders watched her turn and rejoin their companions in the street, he silently finished the sentiment he had been unable to vocalize.

_'It's just that I think I'm falling in love with you, and it's bloody scaring me to death!'_


	8. Passion and Fury

Kristoff had not turned up in Amaranthine, but their visit to the Crown and Lion Inn had provided some useful information nonetheless. The innkeeper had informed Gwenna that the missing Grey Warden was paid up through the month, but had left the inn one afternoon and never returned. He allowed Gwenna access to Kristoff's room, in which she found a journal with extensive notes and a heavily marked map of Blackmarsh pinned to the wall. A conversation with a serving maid who had befriended Kristoff confirmed that he had been tracking a faction of unusually organized Darkspawn, and believed that he had pinpointed their location. In light of this information, the group decided to stay the night in Amaranthine and continue on to Blackmarsh in the morning.

The Dark Wolf had also made an appearance, though not by Gwenna's doing. He had sought her out, actually, though how he had known where to find her she could only guess. The Wolf was a decidedly cagey fellow. During their exchange he had kept his face concealed with a helmet, saying that he preferred not to reveal his true identity. As far as Gwenna was concerned, that was just as well. The fewer names involved in this depraved political intrigue, the better it was for everyone.

All things considered, it had been a rather productive day. The four companions were now settled in for the night at the Crown and Lion Inn, finishing up their evening meal in a quiet room near the back. They chatted idly over mugs of ale, enjoying the warmth of the fire, as the weather had turned cold with the approaching winter.

Presently, Anders was regaling them with stories of the Circle Tower. He had just finished telling them about the pet cat that he'd had at the Circle while locked up in solitary confinement, Mr. Wiggums.

'_The names this man comes up with!' _Thought Gwenna, laughing to herself.

The conversation had garnered the usual derisive eye-rolling from Oghren, but Nathaniel seemed to be genuinely interested in the mage's plight. Anders, never one to shy away from an opportunity to rant about the inequities of the Circle of Magi, was happy to indulge him.

"There were days when that stupid cat was the only person I saw," Anders told them, "Except for him not being a person. Still, I liked him. Poor Mr. Wiggums."

"Why poor Mr. Wiggums?" Asked Gwenna. "I still can't believe you called him that, by the way.

"None of you appreciate a good pet name," said Anders, shaking his head. "Anyway, Mr. Wiggums became possessed by a rage demon. He took out three Templars on his way out, though. I was never more proud! A toast to Mr. Wiggums, then. May he always eat mice in the fade!" He said, raising his glass.

Gwenna smiled. Nathaniel eyed him appraisingly.

"So, what I don't understand is, after seven escape attempts, why would the Templars keep locking you in the tower? Wouldn't it have been easier just to execute you and be done with it? No offense."

Anders laughed. "None taken, friend. I've often wondered that myself. But you know the chantry, they don't believe in executions. If you die they can't torment you. I suppose the tower was their only option, since they can't make you tranquil once you've passed your Harrowing. I bet they regret that rule!"

Gwenna made a face. Anders gave her a curious look. "What's that about?"

"I don't like the idea of the tranquil." She said. "It unnerves me. It's like neutering of the mind. It seems a very inhumane thing to do to a person."

Anders' gaze was approving. "I couldn't have put it better myself," he said.

"This is all so fascinating," said Nathaniel, "I didn't realize how little I actually knew about the Magi."

"Bah! There all just a bunch of sparkle-fingered, nug-humpers if you ask me!" Oghren interjected. Anders ignored him.

Nathaniel continued his questioning. "So, you don't always wear robes do you?" He asked.

Anders smiled naughtily. "Not when I'm naked I don't!"

This caused Gwenna to choke on a swig of beer.

"Are you alright, Lady?" Nathaniel asked her.

Oghren grunted. "She's fine. She's just picturing the mage in his birthday suit."

Gwenna's face had become the same shade of red as her hair. Anders was grinning widely.

"I meant when you're running from the Circle," continued Nathaniel, skipping it. "Wouldn't robes make you easy to spot?"

"Yes, but then so does the big 'I'm a mage' sign around my neck. I like to make it easy for the Templars."

"You're impossible! They did always manage to find you though. How is that?"

"It was just one, actually. They always sent the same Templar after me, or maybe she asked. I certainly can't forget all those long trips back to the tower, I in manacles, she glaring icily at me. The air just sizzled!"

"Are you saying that you meant for her to catch you?"

"Hardly! But she certainly made being caught more enjoyable."

Nathaniel shook his head. Then he asked, "Alright, Anders, I'm going to ask the question that's on everyone's mind, once and for all. Are you or aren't you a maleficar?"

Anders became utterly silent. All eyes were on him. He sighed loudly.

"I guess that depends on how you look at it. I do know my way around blood magic, yes. But knowing how to use blood magic and actually choosing to practice it are two very different things, aren't they? I can also recite the Chant from start to finish, but you don't see me running off to become a chanter."

"I see your point," said Nathaniel.

Anders looked at Gwenna, trying to gauge her reaction. Whatever she might be thinking, her face revealed nothing.

Oghren said, "Well, I think I've had about all the mage talk I can take for one evening. Time for me to turn in."

Nathaniel agreed. "Yes, I think I'll do the same. See you all in the morning."

With that, Gwenna and Anders were left alone at the table. They sat in silence for a few moments, then Anders Asked, "Tell me what you're thinking. Are you upset about my being a blood mage or, that I have the potential to be one? Am I the root of all evil?"

"No, Anders. I wasn't thinking that. Your logic on the subject is pretty sound. I'm convinced." She told him. "There is something you said that I am curious about, however. The Templar who captured you- "

"Rylock," offered Anders, "You met her. She was with the king's company at Vigil's Keep, the vocal one."

"Yes," said Gwenna, remembering. "Was it true what you said? Did you really have a thing for her?"

"Gwenna, do I detect a note of jealousy?" Anders couldn't help feeling a tad pleased. "No, to answer your question. It wasn't true, actually. The _truth_ is, I hated that horrid bitch! She is the one person in the whole world whom I would honestly and openly wish death upon."

"Wow, those are pretty strong words," said Gwenna.

"You have no idea the kinds of indignities I suffered at the hands of that woman!" Anders exclaimed angrily. "She_ abused_ me, Gwenna. She derived some sort of sick pleasure from watching me suffer!"

"What did she do to you?"

"Well, for starters, you know those long trips with me in manacles? Most of those were spent marinating in my own piss and excrement because she wouldn't let me out of my bindings even to address basic physical needs. She would give me no food or water, and the skin on my wrists would end up mutilated from having been bound too tightly for too long. I was treated worse than an animal!"

"Anders, that's horrible! How could she live with herself after treating you like that? The Templars are sworn to uphold justice. That is not justice," said Gwenna. She remembered Anders' previous words.

'_The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble.'_

"I don't know," he replied, " But that's not even the worst of it. I could tell you things that would make you cringe."

"What could be worse than that?"

"Honestly, Gwen, you don't want to know."

"Actually," insisted Gwenna, "I think I do. I feel like I need to know what this woman is capable of."

Anders swallowed hard. "Fine. But I would prefer to go someplace more private. I've never talked about this to anyone. I have no wish to discuss it publicly now."

Gwenna was concerned, but indulged his request. She led him into her room. He sat on her bed in silence for a long time. She nudged him gently. "Please tell me what happened, Anders."

He sighed heavily then spoke. "You see, following one of my escapes, I had gotten all the way to Par Vollen before Rylock caught up with me. She chartered passage on a fishing vessel that was sailing for Antiva in order to get back to the mainland. The ship's crew was a rough, unsavory sort, little better than pirates."

"Rylock chained me up in the bowels of the ship and left me there. I remained alone in that hole for days on end. Eventually, one of the more churlish sailors decided to pay me a visit, not before he'd enjoyed his fair share of the rum, from the smell of him." Anders voice had begun to waver. "He... held a machete to my throat and forced me to… service him."

Gwenna's eyes went wide.

Anders' voice was choked. "It was the most humiliating, degrading experience of my life! If I had been a better man I would have bitten his filthy fucking dick off, but I was weak." He took a shaky breath. "I didn't want to die, so I let him have his way with me."

Anders was sobbing openly now, angry tears streaking his face. He refused to look at her.

"After he had… finished," he continued, "I opened my eyes and saw Rylock standing in the shadows. She had watched that man violate me! She had_ enjoyed_ it!"

He buried his face in his hands, sobbing convulsively. "I no longer even feel like a man, Gwenna! I feel unworthy of a woman's touch! Now that you know, I understand if you won't… if you can't…" His words devolved into a high-pitched keening.

Gwenna reach out to him, pulled him toward her. She rocked him like a child, pulling his hair loose and stroking it gently. When he had quieted, she lifted his face to hers. Looking deeply into his eyes, she kissed him full on the lips. When he fought to pull away, she drew him closer still, her lips growing insistent.

Anders resisted at first but then, tentatively, relented to her entreating mouth. Initially, his kiss was timid and unsure. Then, as Gwenna began to run her hands through his hair and along his body, his mouth grew desperate. He suddenly needed the validation of her touch to redeem him. His lips sought to devour hers and his hands clawed at her frantically. He began fumbling with the clasps of her armor, but his hands were shaking too badly to release them. She stood before him then, her deft hands making short work of the metal and leather ensemble.

Anders drank in the sight of her naked body. His loins throbbed unbearably. Gwenna began peeling his robes away slowly, enjoying the process of undressing him, reveling in his need for her. His manhood was magnificent, long and smooth with just the right amount of girth. The tip was large and thick without being overly bulbous. A clear bead of fluid had amassed at its apex. His testicles were round and firm at the base of him, like a perfect peach that was ripe for the picking. Gwenna knelt between Anders' legs and gently cupped that tender fruit, placing it between her lips. Anders emitted a low groan of pleasure as she gently worked his testicles with her mouth. With her free hand she tugged at his swollen member, methodically stroking the shaft. The muscles of his stomach rippled and tensed. Gwenna dragged her tongue in a warm, unbroken line up the length of him. Taking the head in her mouth, she sipped at the fluid that had collected in its opening.

Anders clawed at the bedclothes. Gwenna took all of him into her mouth then and he moaned loudly. She sucked him slowly, deliberately, drawing out the pleasure. His hips bucked at her attentions, and she increased her pace to match him.

Anders sat up, pushing her away, but this time with no intention of ending the interaction. Instead he grabbed her and tossed her onto the bed, kissing her hard. He licked along the pointed length of her ears, nibbling at their tips. A nimble finger found her engorged nub and began working at it gently. He kissed down her neck, biting at the soft skin above her shoulder. Gwenna shivered and cried out with pleasure. Anders slid a long finger into her molten core, twisting his wrist so that he found her sweet spot. When she was open enough, he slid in a second finger. He drove them in and out of her, flicking his thumb over her eager clitoris. His tongue flicked at her raised nipples. Gwenna became aware of a heavy wave of pleasure that rose from someplace deep within her. Color exploded behind her eyelids and her knees buckled. Anders kissed her ferociously as she convulsed against him in orgasm.

Then he was on top of her. Taking his throbbing cock in his hand, he slid himself slowly inside her, letting her adjust to his size. He was unimaginably hard. When he was all the way in, he began swerving his hips, working himself around inside her. The feel of her was incredible, like warm velvet. He delighted in the sensation, a low and guttural moan escaping his throat. His hands caressed the length of her body as he rocked inside her, kneaded hungrily at her firm breasts.

Several times He slid himself all the way out to the tip and then plunged back into her. Gwenna encouraged him with ecstatic yelps. She was enjoying the tease of it. Then she grabbed him by the buttocks and forced him deeper. He began a series of rhythmic, powerful thrusts. His groans of pleasure were a constant noise. He was a vocal and enthusiastic lover, which Gwenna found thrilling.

He pulled out of her, grabbing her by the hips and flipping her onto her stomach. He entered her once again, cupping her buttocks. It was a tighter fit in this position, and Gwenna could feel every inch of him moving along her pulsating walls. Her cries rose to a frantic crescendo. She writhed beneath him, waves of pleasure rendering her trembling and limbless. Anders' breath came in ragged gasps as he plowed into her. His throaty grunts betrayed a pleasure so intense it was almost pain.

He lifted her onto her knees so that her chest was still flat to the bed and only her hips were in the air. He wound his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged hard. He thrust into her furiously, and there was an audible slap of skin as they collided. Gwenna could feel the pressure of another climax upon her and her cries reached a frenzied pitch.

The feel of her spasming around his manhood was almost too much for Anders to take. He wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.

"OOOOhhhhh! Gweennnn! You feel so fucking good!" He cried, pounding her hard.

Realizing he was nearing orgasm, Gwenna said, "I want to feel it, Anders. I want to feel you come!"

Anders laughed a deliciously masculine laugh. After several more savage thrusts of his cock, Gwenna felt Anders' body tense above her. Then she felt the length of him against the skin of her back, and he spasmed violently as he decorated her from tailbone to shoulder blade with his hot seed.

Hours later, Anders was still languidly caressing the curves of Gwenna's naked flesh. She had been long asleep, but he was unable find rest. It was almost as though some irrational part of his subconscious kept him awake out of fear that if he slept, he would wake to find himself, once again, alone in the confines of the tower; As if allowing the moment to end would render it nonexistent . Gazing down at the beautiful elf in his arms, he felt as though he could live the rest of his life in this single moment. Anders realized that he had, after all these long years, finally come home.


	9. Prodigal Sons

_Sorry this took so long for me to update. It looks like I might end up being a little busier than usual for a while. I am totally invested in this story though, so I promise I will keep writing it. Just please be patient with me if I go silent for a few days at a time. Anyway, thanks again to everyone for reading. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! :D_

If there had been any questions as to whether or not winter had descended upon Amaranthine, they were dispelled on the long ride to Blackmarsh. An icy wind had followed Gwenna and company as they traveled along the Hafter River, bringing with it spurts of cold precipitation and even a smattering of snow showers. The companions had ridden silently, huddled deep into their cloaks, concentrating their energies on sustaining warmth.

Gwenna had been warding off the chill with thoughts of Anders, replaying in her mind all of the most tantalizing moments of their night together. Making love to Anders had been a wholly different experience than any of her previous exploits. Not that there were many available for comparison. Alistair had been her first and only lover until Anders. The king had also been a virgin before Gwenna, and their discoveries of each other had been of a timid and exploratory nature. Although her couplings with Alistair had been sweet, they had lacked the sensual charisma that she experienced with Anders. She found herself unable to retire the memory of the mage's touch, and her desire for him had been a nagging pressure in her pelvis for nearly the entire journey thus far.

Anders had been watching Gwenna, unnoticed, for some time. Perched atop her horse, hooded in a dark woolen cloak, the elf looked like something out of legend. As always, Anders was struck by the otherworldly quality of her beauty. In the muted, overcast light, her skin appeared white as marble, causing the colors near her face to pop. The elegant calligraphy of her tattoos stood out boldly against that smooth whiteness, and her eyes glittered like two pale garnets in snow. Heavy moisture in the air had condensed flyaway wisps of her hair into a filigree of red curls around her face. More so than the strongest of spirits, Anders found Gwenna's loveliness intoxicating.

He wondered what she was thinking, as she had been unusually quiet since they had embarked upon their journey. They had departed Amaranthine the morning following their night of passion, and Gwenna had seemed completely lost to her own thoughts ever since. Her continued silence was making Anders uneasy and he was beginning to fear the worst. He tugged at his horse's reigns and pulled up beside her.

"Copper for your thoughts, my lady?"

Gwenna started at the sound of his voice. "I'm sorry, what?" She asked.

"I was wondering what you might be thinking," he told her. "You've been awfully quiet."

"I've been thinking about you, actually," she said.

"Is that so?" He asked, "May I inquire further?" His tone was cautious.

At that, Gwenna blushed furiously. She gazed intently down at her hands, unable to look at him. Anders, gauging her reaction, realized his blunder immediately. He gave her a masculine chuckle.

"My Dear, have you been_ fantasizing_ about me?" He asked, grinning.

Her face grew redder still and she did her best to retreat into the cavernous hood of her cloak. Yet unable to meet his gaze she mumbled, "Maybe."

He laughed again, and it had a salacious ring to it. "Good to know," he said. "I had actually started to worry that you might be having second thoughts."

She looked up at him then, shaking her head. "Not even a little bit," she told him.

"Also good to know," he said, tawny eyes sparkling. "So I guess I can take that to mean you enjoyed yourself?"

Gwenna gave him a look. Anders was fishing, but she decided to indulge him. Pulling off a glove with her teeth, her bare hand darted into the folds of her cloak and reappeared with two moistly glistening fingers. She reached over and glossed his lips with that tangy slickness. Giving him a wanton smile she said, "You tell me."

Anders' eyes went wide as he licked his lips. Suddenly he was very grateful for the heaviness of his own thick riding cloak. On this one day, he would not be complaining about the weather.

"Oh, my," he said.

Gwenna continued. "You know, Alistair was the only lover I'd had before you, and we were each other's firsts. We were just sort figuring things out as we went along. Being with you was a very different experience, Anders. I had no idea it could all be so…_ intense_! I can't stop thinking about it."

He raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known that, actually. So King Alistair had been a virgin until Gwenna? He supposed it made sense. The king had been raised in the Chantry, after all, a tidbit of information that Anders kept conveniently forgetting. Gwenna, on the other hand, was unexpected. Spitfire that she was, it was difficult for him to think of her as virginal. She was something of a sexual paradox, a kind of libertine ingénue, and her combination of naiveté and enthusiasm excited Anders enormously. His own arousal had become a soothe-less ache in his groin.

Gwenna persisted, "I suppose it's my turn to ask. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"My lady!" Exclaimed Anders, laughing. "I thought _that_ had been nothing short of obvious!"

She smiled, sheepishly. "Perhaps, but I feel like I'm at a bit of a disadvantage," she admitted.

"No worries there, my Gwen." He placed his hand on hers. "Untried though you may be, passion suits you." Then, "You know, there are further pleasures that I could yet introduce you to, if you're interested."

"Are you telling me that I've only gotten a taste of what you have to offer?" Gwenna smiled, "That sounds promising."

"Give me your arm," said Anders, "I want to show you something."

She looked at him curiously, but obliged. He placed two fingers inside the crook of her elbow and they began to glow, very faintly, with a soft green light. After a moment, an aura of magic thrummed around Anders' hand and the two fingers began a slow, pulsing vibration.

"This spell," he told her, "is one you may be familiar with. It is used to harness seismic energy in order to decimate whole acres of battlefield. If channeled in just the right way, however," his fingers oscillated more intensely, "it can produce a very different type of quake."

Gwenna shivered. Then the halo of magic took on a different appearance. One finger shone with red light and she felt a rush of warmth expand against her skin. The second finger was haloed in blue and produced a thousand tiny pinpricks of cold.

Gwenna's skin was a rash of gooseflesh and her mouth had collapsed into a small 'O'. "Can all mages do this?" She asked, breathless.

"All mages have the potential to do this, yes," answered Anders, "but it takes a lot of patience to master this level of control. Most mages are not willing to invest that kind of time. Locked up in the tower, I had nothing but time."

Gwenna nodded silently, struck dumb by his power. Anders was a formidable mage. There was a certain poetic irony to the magnitude of his skill, but she wouldn't come to fully realize the implications until sometime later. At present, she could focus only on the sensory explosion being created at his fingertips.

'_Fantastic'_, she admonished herself , '_We are en route to a date with Darkspawn and all you can think about is pulling Anders into the bushes and enjoying a long lesson on the finer points of magic."_

A cold, dense fog descended on Blackmarsh as evening fell, and the sky had begun to spit pellets of freezing rain. Aside from the icy drizzle, there was an uncanny quietude. Nothing stirred among the dilapidated ruins, not even a frog croaked. There was an eerie quality to the stillness, as if they had walked into the middle of some sinister dream.

Anders looked particularly unnerved. He kept scanning the fog for something that neither Gwenna, nor the other companions, could feel or see. They watched him, warily, as he walked deliberately toward nothing and raised his hand into the empty air. Then, the atmosphere around him began to shimmer with an unearthly light. Gwenna and Nathaniel both sucked in audible breaths as they watched.

"We are very close to the Fade," said Anders. His voice sounded very far away. "There is a tear in the veil here. I suspect they are all around us. An unnatural force is at work in this place."

The party exchanged uneasy glances, but continued deeper into the marsh. Eventually, they came upon what looked like it had once been a campsite. No fire burned in the pit, and a body lay sprawled, limp and lifeless, on the dank soil. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that this was a man, and that he had been wearing Grey Warden armor when he died. Gwenna gathered what few of the dead man's possessions still lay about; journals, a small box with a locket and some letters from, presumably, his wife.

"This man was Kristoff," she informed them. The group was sullen.

Then, at once, the air trembled and they were surrounded by Darkspawn. Gwenna drew her daggers and whirled them around with lightning speed, feeling their blades bite into meaty flesh. Nathaniel loosed a cavalry of arrows that fell like a deadly rain upon the attacking fiends. From behind her, came a thick, wet, slicing sound and Gwenna had to do some fancy footwork to dodge the severed head that rolled under her feet. Anders had unleashed a wall of fire upon the encroaching horde. Like some elemental spirit of fury, his hands quivering with flame, he dispensed quick death upon the Darkspawn.

As they stood over the corpses, stunned and panting, a figure approached from the darkness. It was no man, yet the being's gait was purposeful. As it neared, Gwenna noted the competent gaze it fixed on her. Her companions steeled themselves for another round of battle. She put a hand up, signaling them to stand down. She recognized this terrible creature. This was one of the sentient Darkspawn who had held Varel captive at Vigil's Keep.

"You," Gwenna said.

"So you know me, Grey Warden," it spoke. "I also know you, Gwenna, Commander of the Grey. I look for you."

"Who… _what…_ are you?" She asked.

"I am the First," answered the fiend. "The Mother created me. I am her prototype. First of many to occupy her army."

"The Mother?" Inquired Nathaniel, "does it mean the Broodmother?"

"The Mother of _all _mothers!" Corrected the monster. "The Mother seeks to defeat the Architect. She seeks aid of the Grey Wardens. Come Grey Warden. See the Mother. Hear the Mother."

"The Architect?" Asked Gwenna. "What does that mean? Who or what is it?"

"Come with the First. You will know. You will see," the creature replied. "Come, Grey Warden!"

"Gwenna, no!" Cried Anders, but the air had already begun to shift. The barrier between worlds had opened. An overwhelming rush of energy knocked the mage to the ground, forcing the wind out of him. The Fade was a treacherous place, even for members of the Magi. Any number of demons or other malignant spirits waited anxiously to possess a mortal body and join the living. It was their one greatest desire. Resisting such forces was the test of a true mage. This was the Harrowing, the rite of passage that all mages of the circle must undergo. Any mage who was unable to resist these malevolent forces, died. The Fade was no place for the untrained.

Anders scrambled to keep his composure. He fumbled frantically in his pack for a flask of potent lyrium potion, and downed it in one long swallow. Moments before everything went dark he was able to cast a hasty ward around his companions, praying that it would be enough to keep them safe on the other side until consciousness returned. Then, blackness.


	10. Betrayal

_So bad weather gave me some unexpected time with absolutely nothing to do except some leisure writing, Yay! So another chapter, much quicker than I thought. _

Miles away, in a less supernatural part of Ferelden, another Grey Warden was also having a remarkable evening. The king sat in his throne room at Denerim Palace, holding an impromptu audience with a mysterious elven woman. Also present were a handful of soldiers, Templars, as well as members of the Royal Guard. Among them was Rylock, the outspoken Templar whom Alistair had come to know fairly well in his time as king. Many who knew her felt that her political leanings were often too radical for comfort, but Alistair respected her commitment to the Chantry and considered her to be one of his most trusted military advisors. It was she whom had brought the elf to see him on such urgent notice. Rylock claimed the woman had information that would be of great interest to him.

The woman who sat before him had a defiant look in her eyes. She was slight and blond, but it was difficult to determine her age. Partially this was due to her being an elf, as the elves aged differently than humans, but mostly it looked as though fast living had taken its toll on her.

'_A shame,'_ thought Alistair, _'she might have been pretty once._'

Rylock addressed her. "Explain to His Majesty what you've got here." She motioned toward a pile of journals and miscellaneous paperwork piled on a table in front of her.

The elf bowed. "Greetings, Your Highness, I am called Namaya. I have some information on one of your own Grey Wardens that I believe you will consider quite relevant."

"Greetings to you, Ser Namaya. I welcome you to the Royal Palace," Alistair attempted to receive her formally, though his mind was racing. There weren't many Grey Wardens left to speak of in Ferelden, and he doubted this would be pleasant news. He thought immediately of Gwenna and his stomach flipped. "You have news regarding one of the Grey Wardens, you said? What news, exactly?"

"Perhaps it is not news, Your Majesty, so much as it is proof." She told him, "I speak of Ser Anders, Your Highness. He is a Grey Warden who, I believe, rides at the side of your very own Warden Commander. He is also a dangerous blood mage, as you will soon see for yourself."

The king's eyes grew large. Anders. That was Gwenna's pet mage, the one they had argued about. He had known that man was bad news from the start, but Gwenna, stubborn elf that she was, would hear nothing of it. Likely, she would hear no part of it now, particularly not if it came at his suggestion. He knew he needed to get rid of this miscreant, for her sake and for the Wardens', but he would have to proceed carefully if there were to be any hopes of success. The Commander of the Grey was her own force of nature, and not one to be told what was best for her. She was certainly no longer one from whose wrath Alistair could expect to be spared. Not these days, anyway.

"A blood mage among the Wardens is certainly an alarming prospect," he said. "How solid is your proof, Ser Namaya?"

"I think you'll find it's more than sufficient, Your Majesty," she replied. She first handed him one of Anders' grimoires. It was an old, dusty text that described, in detail, the proper techniques involved in performing blood rituals and casting spells of blood magic. There were numerous diagrams, as well as several pages boasting bloody fingerprints from where the mage had, no doubt, been practicing the craft.

Next she provided him with two more journals and myriad loose schematics, all illustrating the ideas Anders had come up with over the years for obtaining his freedom from the Circle of Magi. Some described plans for escaping the circle, others for staging a coup on the tower in hopes of finding, and confiscating, his phylactery. Some were so old they contained childish scribbling in the page margins. It was all there, every gory detail of the mage's long struggle to be free of the Chantry's dominion.

Alistair was speechless. In some small way, he almost sympathized with the mage. After all, the king himself had been thrilled to become a Grey Warden, seeing his conscription as blessed rescue from the strong arm of the Templars. At the same time, this was no longer a case of a simple apostate. This man was clearly maleficarum, and blood magic could not be tolerated. The dangers were too many and the costs too great, not the least of them being some threat to Gwenna's personal safety. Though part of Alistair pitied the mage he could not, in good conscience, show him mercy for his crimes.

"What do _you_ make of all this?" He asked Rylock.

Rylock looked pleased. "Your Highness, this is proof without a shadow of doubt that this mage has had dealings in the executable crime of blood magic. Allow me to show you what I mean." With that she pulled a small vial of some red, viscous liquid from a chain around her neck. "I retrieved Anders' phylactery. If the blood that marks the pages of this grimoire is, in fact, Anders' blood, then the blood in the phylactery will respond, much as it responds to the mage himself. Watch." She held the vial up to the grimoire. The blood in vial glowed hot, neon red. Anders' phylactery. Anders' blood.

"I see," was all the king could offer. He thought for a long time. How was he to go about this? The mage was a Grey Warden now, and it was beyond the right of the crown to overturn his conscription, especially after the joining had been completed. Gwenna would fight him tooth and nail if he even so much as suggested it. He turned, once again, to Rylock.

"The Warden Commander is unlikely to concede to his arrest. She is a woman of strong convictions, as I'm sure you've heard. Have you any suggestions as to how I might convince her?"

Rylock frowned. "Ah yes, the Commander," she said. Her tone was unfriendly. "If she will not surrender to the whim of the crown, perhaps she will be less inclined to defy the Chantry."

Alistair furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Your Majesty, you have the power to decide the law. If you so choose, you could see to it that the Chantry holds sole authority over rogue mages. If that were the case, no one, not any ruler, nor any noble, nor even the Grey Wardens could deny my right to arrest a maleficar. "

The king was uncertain. "With all respect to the Chantry, Ser Rylock, I'm not convinced it's wise to allow that sort of autonomy."

"But, My Lord, the maleficar are a pox on society. No good has ever come from any one of them. They must be eradicated, at any cost!" Rylock insisted. Then she said, "Anders is especially dangerous and depraved. I would know. I've been tracking that unholy reprobate for years! Your Commander is not safe with him, Majesty."

That convinced him. Alistair sighed. "You make a convincing point, Ser Templar. You shall have your decree by morning."

Rylock looked triumphant. "Thank you, Your Majesty!" She exclaimed. "You will not be disappointed!"

"I hope you're right," said Alistair replied dismally.

"You know, if Anders gets wind of this, he'll just escape again." It was Namaya who spoke. "You're best bet is to stage an ambush. I believe I can help you with that."

Alistair and Rylock exchanged a look. It was Alistair who spoke.

"What did you have in mind?"

Namaya smiled a wicked smile and divulged an elaborate plan for Anders' demise.


	11. Justice

_In terms of basic plot, this chapter is taken almost directly from the game (albeit re-written with my own spin). The reason for that is Justice. I really wanted to make use of him as a character, and I felt like his backstory was essential to his development. Eventually this story will stray from the canon of the game and go in its own direction. Bear with me! ;)_

Upon opening her eyes, Gwenna's first thought was that she had been knocked unconscious and slept through until morning. It was not long before she realized her misestimation. Though the sky was brighter than it had previously been, there was an uncanny absence of light that felt inexplicably out of place. It hovered somewhere between darkness and light, similar to that inscrutable time between deepest night and dawn, when time stands still and hangs, seemingly endlessly, upon a single moment. There was something on the air itself that held that same boundless quality. It was like the constant droning of a long note, not precisely audible, but distinctly present nonetheless. A sort of diffuse aura feathered at the edges of her vision, obscuring the periphery.

It was all strangely familiar. From where did Gwenna recognize these bizarre sensations? Was she concussed? Perhaps she had taken a blow to the head. She had the oddest perception of being submerged in water. She blinked several times in an attempt to clear her vision. Her mind felt as though it were wading through syrup. She could not seem to mend the schism that separated awareness from cognition.

A pair of golden eyes gazed into her, their autumnal irises passing across her vision like two spectral floating orbs. From somewhere unimaginably far away, sounds reached her. Words, perhaps? Gwenna couldn't tell.

"WuuhhhWhhh," came the strange, muffled warbling. "Whhehhwhhhah! **Wweh**!"

"Gwenna," Anders tried to desperately to reach his dazed companion. "Gwenna! **Gwen**!"

He had been relieved when the elf had regained consciousness, but she was dreadfully Fade-addled. This is what happened when someone was bought into the Fade unprepared. It was usually worse for non-mages. He had been trying to get her to focus on his voice, hoping to bring her out of her stupor, but she remained disoriented. She needed lyrium. A potion was unlikely to be very effective in this instance. What she really needed was pure extract straight from raw ore. Raw lyrium abounded in the Fade, but none was immediately visible and Anders refused to leave his companions alone and vulnerable. He reached into his knapsack and fetched a vial of the strongest lyrium potion he could find. With a superstitious cross of his fingers he pried Gwenna's mouth apart and forced her to swallow. Then he waited.

"Gwenna?" He entreated after a few moments, "Gwenna, can you hear me? Follow the sound of my voice!" He coaxed.

After a time, the dull heaviness lifted from her umber gaze. Her dilated pupils constricted, and she seemed better able to focus her eyesight that she had before.

"Gwen. Are you with me?" Anders tried again. This time, she blinked at him.

"Anders? " She massaged her forehead with her fingers, as a throbbing headache pulsed behind her eyes. "What's happening?"

"We're in the Fade, I'm afraid. How coherent are you?"

"The Fade?" She repeated dumbly. _'Ah, yes.' _Things were beginning to fall into place. "I'm… mostly there. What about…? She surveyed the area for Nathaniel and Oghren.

"Still unconscious," said Anders. "We need lyrium vein, otherwise they will be just as Fade-addled as you were when they wake, especially the dwarf."

Gwenna nodded. She shook her head, still trying to chase away the bleariness.

Anders continued, "It's best if I stay here until they rise. If I tell what to look for, can you find some raw lyrium? Do you think you're up to that?"

Gwenna said, "I know what to look for. I've been in the Fade before. I think I'll be alright. There's bound to be some of the ore close by."

Anders looked surprised. " You've been in the Fade?"

"During the blight," she explained. "A sloth demon trapped me, along with my companions, in a dream."

Anders' surprise intensified. "How did you manage to escape?"

"When I finally came to, I met a mage who was also trapped. He had given up trying to escape, but he explained to me how the Fade operated, and how to operate within it. I used lyrium to keep a clear head and traversed the dream as though it were a labyrinth which, in a sense, I think it was. Eventually I found my friends and was able to free them. Then we fought our way out."

Anders could not conceal his amazement. "You are not a mage, yet you fought your way free of the Fade? That means you defeated the demon! I must say I'm impressed! Is there anything you can't do? Maybe for your next trick you can channel Andraste herself and we can turn Vigil's Keep into a place of pilgrimage? I'll be in charge of donations!"

The painful wallop she bestowed on his arm told Anders that Gwenna was feeling better. He sent her off then, to find the lyrium vein they needed, while he kept watch over their still slumbering companions. He watched after her in wonderment as she walked off into the mist. Anders was becoming more convinced by the day that this woman was, without question, the most fascinating creature in all of Thedas.

Oghren was the last to regain cognizance. Of all the races, Dwarves had the least affinity for magic, and were therefore more susceptible to the effects of all things arcane. They had also developed a resistance to lyrium, as the majority of lyrium in Thedas proper was mined from the deep roads and processed in Orzammar. It took the dwarf twice as much of the ore than Nathaniel had required in order for him to fully recover. The dwarf shifted his gaze back and forth between Anders and Gwenna.

"The Fade?" He demanded, "Did that sparkly bastard just say that we're in the_ Fade_?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that where humans dream?"

"Yes. Elves too, actually. Please don't panic."

"Of course I'm panicking you hairless nug-humper! Dwarves shouldn't be here! We don't _dream_! We sleep like the stone!"

"It is highly unusual, I must admit," agreed Anders.

Gwenna shot him a look. To Oghren she said, "I need you to keep your wits about you. Try to stay calm. I've escaped the Fade once and I can do again. Plus, we have Anders."

Oghren eyed the mage, unconvinced. "You're telling me our fate rests in the hands of Twinkles the Mage? Great. And what happens to my body while I'm in here? Someone could outrage my modesty!"

"What little's left of it!" Anders interjected.

Gwenna knuckled him in the arm. He rubbed at the bruised muscle there. She was really going to have to start varying her target areas, he thought.

"You know Oghren, when this is all said and done, you will have a war story that no other dwarf in Orzammar can best. Perhaps you should think of it that way," offered Nathaniel.

Oghren gave him an appreciative nod. "At least someone in this motley crew of nug-lovers is able to talk some sense! Let's do this!"

Nathaniel turned his gaze to Gwenna. "Speaking of which, what exactly is the plan, if I may be so bold?"

Gwenna surveyed the area for the fiend that called itself The First. He, _(it!)_ was nowhere to be seen. The marsh was silent. "That's a good question," she said. Then, pointing off toward what would have been the horizon she said, "However, it looks like someone commissioned reconstruction of our erstwhile village while we slept."

The men's eyes followed her gesture into the distance, fixing awestruck gazes on where she pointed. They all emitted a gasp of shock as their eyes came to rest upon Blackmarsh Village, restored to all its former glory.

Anders was the only one who spoke. "May I suggest we start with a little sight-seeing then?"

They located the spirit at the gates of the mansion, surrounded be a crowd of angry villagers, the trapped souls of Blackmarsh. The spirit looked like a knight out of some celestial fairy tale, a vision in ghostly armor. He was possessed of the noblest sounding voice Gwenna had ever heard, and it now reverberated in the still air.

"Come out fiend. You cannot hide within the confines of your lair!" The spirit boomed.

The Grey Wardens approached him tentatively.

"Who goes there? Minions of the Baroness? Or more trapped souls?"

"We are Grey Wardens, brought here against our will. We were told that you might be able to help us," Said Gwenna.

The apparition considered her. "I cannot say what a 'Grey Warden' is," it replied, "But you are clearly a stranger, and an able looking sort. Perhaps it is a sign."

One of the villagers spoke next. "The Baroness is who has imprisoned us here. She ruled over Blackmarsh once, but she was evil. She killed our families, used the blood of our children to feed her dark ritual. It was how she preserved her youth."

"Blood magic," Interjected Anders, "Of a particularly nasty variety, from the sound of it."

The villager nodded. "When we tried to rise against her, she trapped us here, in the Fade. We have no knowledge of what has happened to our homes or our people. We have been reduced to wandering specters, lost within a mirage of the home we once knew. Please help us, stranger."

"The Blackmarsh is long abandoned and overgrown, I'm sad to say," replied Gwenna gently.

"Has it been so long?" Asked the villager, solemnly.

"Will you lend your lend your aid to see this wrong undone?" Inquired the spirit.

Gwenna nodded her assent. "I will gladly help you, if I can."

"Commander, there is a dark and powerful magic at work here. I'm not convinced it's wise to antagonize the one who wields such power. I'm sure I can find another way out, just give me some time." The plea came from Anders.

"And leave all of these souls trapped here like this? Could you really be okay with that, Anders?" Gwenna asked him.

'_I would be less okay with you dying in the Fade where it is my duty to protect you_.' He thought, but suspected that she would not share his sentiment. Aloud he said, "I'm just concerned that we may be getting in over our heads. We're no good to anyone dead."

"We have to try," she entreated.

He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "So be it then. Point the way, fearless leader."

"Then people of Blackmarsh, it is time for justice to prevail. Now we reclaim your freedom!" The spirit's battle cry arose. The villagers raised their voices in a deafening cheer.

The Baroness stood high on her balcony, and they below her. The spirit had just proposed his challenge. The Baroness laughed cruelly.

"You may have found sympathizers, Spirit, but I am also not alone."

A darkly clad figure stepped forward. _The First!_ Gwenna's gasp was audible.

"You were a fool to trust me mortal," it said, "Just as I was a fool to believe the Mother. But retribution comes. You will die and the Mother will pay for her treachery!"

"Heinous fiend! I should have known this was a trap!" Spat Anders.

"Bring it on!" said Oghren, "We've face worse than the likes of you! Our leader defeated an archdemon!"

It was the Baroness who answered him. "If you believe that archdemons are the worst this realm can deliver, than you are gravely uninformed. Perhaps you will think about that as you meet your end!"

The wardens fought tirelessly. The exposed patches of Gwenna's skin stuck sickeningly to one another, so covered in gore was she. Oghren was no less bloodied. Nathaniel had become unhanded of his bow and was fighting now with a Darkspawn longsword, with which he was still more proficient than most. Anders had been casting furiously. He was becoming short on mana as well as stamina, Gwenna could tell. He looked pale and wan, his expression pained. They could not keep this up much longer.

"You fool!" The Baroness bellowed into the fray. "Why have you not defeated them yet?" This was intended for The First.

"They are too much," admitted the fiend. "You must be sending me back. Before it is too late!"

"Oh, sunder the veil I shall," replied the Baroness. "But you will not see the other side, Churl. Your life will provide the power!"

A burst of ground-shattering magic enveloped the courtyard as The First fell. Momentarily everything went white. There was a profound silence, and then nothing.

Anders awoke to the returned desolation of a wasted Blackmarsh. He was utterly spent, aching in every bone and muscle of his body, but it was a triumphant feeling. It meant that he was no longer within the Fade. At that thought, his eyes shot open, searching frenziedly for the others. To his indescribable relief, they were all present and accounted for.

As he sat up and rubbed his aching eyes, a strange thing happened. The corpse of the Grey Warden, Kristoff stirred. The body stretched and that sat up to look at him.

"Kristoff?" He mumbled in disbelief.

The corpse responded, "What is this? Am I in the realm of mortals? Is this a mortal body I possess?"

Anders' disbelief became shocked understanding. "You're the spirit of Justice! But, how?"

"The witch," explained the corpse-spirit, "In her haste she sent us all through the veil. She is here is well. But be warned, she is no mortal. That is a demon of pride. I shall help you defeat her, but we must repair the veil. I suspect you will be instrumental in that regard, as I sense you are a creature of strong magic."

"The fun never ends, does it?" said Anders with glib disbelief. "Help me wake the children?"

The spirit warrior stood before her, befuddled. Gwenna was, herself, perplexed. They had defeated the pride demon, the tears in the veil had been repaired, yet the spirit remained trapped in the body of Kristoff the Grey Warden.

"I cannot seem to return to the Fade," it said. "I do not know why that is. I know nothing of this mortal world."

"Perhaps your mission here is not yet complete," suggested Gwenna.

"My mission," repeated the spirit. "Perhaps. Perhaps I am meant to seek vengeance for the Grey Warden who died at the hands of The First, since he cannot."

"Join us then, spirit. Help us fulfill Kristoff's duty." Said Gwenna.

The spirit-corpse nodded. "That seems as good a choice as any, given the circumstances. I shall join you, mortal. I shall seek justice in the name of the Grey Warden Kristoff."

"Shall I call you Kristoff, then?"

"No, as I am not Kristoff. I have no name, only a virtue I aspire to. Perhaps that can be my name. You may call me _Justice_."


	12. Brothers in Blood

The party had nearly returned to Amaranthine when Gwenna signaled for them to stop off in a clearing beside the road. She dismounted her horse and motioned for her companions to follow suit. They eyed her quizzically. They were much too close to the city to be stopping to rest the horses, and she wouldn't have had them dismount if she simply needed to answer the call of nature. Clearly, something was on the commander's mind.

"Is everything alright, Lady?" Asked Nathaniel.

"We need to talk. About Justice," she told them.

"About me? Have I done something to upset you? If so, I assure you it was not my intention. I am still unsure how to navigate the complicated sensibilities of mortals."

"No, you haven't upset me Justice," she told him. "But having you with us does… complicate things. I can't imagine we will be especially well received in Amaranthine with a walking corpse at our side. People are likely to jump to conclusions."

"True," agreed Anders, "And those 'conclusions' are guaranteed to be pointed directly at me. I've got my hands full enough with the Templars, thank you very much."

"That could work to your advantage, Anders," said Oghren, "People might not be so quick to make fun of that dress you wear if they think you're capable of sending a horde of zombies after 'em."

"And people might not be so quick make fun of your beard if it didn't look like a pair of mangy foxes were having relations on your face," retorted Anders.

Gwenna and Nathaniel exchanged a look, but they were both trying hard not to laugh.

Justice said, "It did not occur to me that this might be a problem. What do you propose as a solution? I most certainly have no wish to be a hindrance to you."

"I don't exactly know," said Gwenna. She cast a circumspect glance toward Anders. "Is there something you can do?"

Anders shifted uncomfortably. She had to know what she was asking of him. It was impossible that she was so untrained in arcane lore as to be completely unaware of the implications.

"Gwen," he asked. "You do understand what that would mean, don't you?"

"But you can do it, yes?"

Anders became slightly incensed. "Well, theoretically, yes. I do have the_ ability_. But you're asking me to cross a very dangerous line!

"I understand that, "said Gwenna, "but these are exceptional circumstances. We can't very well walk around with a rotting corpse as a companion, and I suspect Justice would find it categorically unpleasant to live in one. It would honestly be an act of kindness, Anders."

Oghren interrupted, "Why do I feel like I missed something? What are you all talking about? "

Nathaniel answered him, "I believe they are discussing the use of blood magic, to…ah… preserve Justice."

"Well isn't that ironic," Oghren snorted.

Anders continued as if he hadn't heard them. "In case it has somehow escaped you, Gwenna, Templars don't typically concern themselves with the _reason_ a mage performs blood magic. There are no juries involved when deciding the fate of a maleficar. The verdict is always death."

"Anders, you are a Grey Warden. The Templars can't touch you now."

"The Templars may not be able to arrest me, Gwen, but there are things worse than jail or execution. Magic carries and echo. It's like a fingerprint or a signature. It can tell a tale to anyone who knows what to look for."

Gwenna considered this. The memory of Anders' past trauma flickered across her face. She looked from the mage to the spirit and back again. Before she had a chance to speak, Nathaniel did.

"With all due respect, Commander, this is Anders' decision to make"

Anders regarded him with a mix of surprise and approval. Then, Justice spoke.

"I do not want this man to die for helping me. However it seems remarkably unfair that one who seeks only to provide succor can be persecuted thusly."

"Very little about the Chantry has anything to do with fairness," remarked Anders dryly. He gave the spirit a scrutinizing look. "Can you feel the decaying of your body? Is it terribly uncomfortable?"

"There are many sensations which accompany this body I inhabit that are strange to me," answered Justice. "But, yes, I am aware that this flesh is deteriorating. "

"Yes, and eventually you well become a walking, talking skeleton. We won't be getting many rooms at the inn with one of those around, I suspect." Anders said. "And I don't imagine rotting flesh is a walk in the park for you, either, new to your anatomy or not."

Turning back to Gwenna with a sigh of resignation, he said, "So, blood magic it is then, I suppose. May I borrow one of you daggers, Darling?"

Her gaze was apologetic. "Do you need me to fetch you something to, um, sacrifice?"

"**No!**" Anders exclaimed, "Absolutely not! If I must do this, it will be my own blood that fuels the magic. I will not kill needlessly."

In that moment, Gwenna was overcome with a tremendous surge of affection for the reluctant mage. He was at once beautiful, powerful and painfully fragile. She longed to kiss away the lines of worry that fissured his brow, ached to take him in her arms and assuage the turbulence that rumbled in those magnificent, gilded eyes. She took one of his large hands into her two small ones and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Making deliberate eye contact she said, "You are a good man, Anders, and you are doing a good thing here. I believe in you, even if you doubt yourself."

Anders smiled weakly. He kissed Gwenna softly on the forehead. "Shall we get this over with?

Gwenna watched with a mix of fascination and horror as Anders completed the blood ritual. He used the blade of the dagger she'd loaned him to make a deep cut on the underside of his forearm. Then flicking his wrist violently, he made a circle of blood on the grass with Justice in the center. The air shimmered and grew dense, as it often did when powerful magic was afoot. Yet there was a pull to this magic unlike anything Gwenna had previously encountered. She could feel it like a slow burn beneath her skin.

'_Its echo'_, she now understood.

Anders then used the dagger to make a shallower cut on the arm of Justice. The dead flesh did not bleed when the blade parted it. He held his own bleeding wound over Justice's dry one, bathing it in crimson. In a strange, lilting tongue, Anders began to chant.

"Αναγνωρίζω τη δύναμη αυτού του αίματος. Σέβομαι την πρόθεση και την τιμή της γνώση Αφήστε το αίμα μου να είναι το μοναδικό αίμα που χύθηκε, ας τον πόνο μου να είναι ο μόνος πόνος αισθητός . "

"That is the ancient language of the Tevinters!" Whispered Nathaniel, awed.

"Do you know what he's saying?" Gwenna returned the whisper.

Nathaniel had been forced to learn the dead language of the Tevinter Imperium as part of his studies, but that had been some years ago. He listened carefully as Anders repeated the mantra.

"Yes," he said, "I think I've got it. He's saying: 'I respect the power of the blood. I honor the intent and value the knowledge. Let my blood be the only blood that is shed, let my pain be the only pain that is felt.'

Gwenna watched on in dumb amazement. Anders' blood came in continuous rivulets, flowing ceaselessly into the cadaverous flesh of Justice, feeding it life. Almost imperceptibly, Justice's skin began to knit itself together. His sunken features began to fill out and his dull eyes gleamed with new clarity. Eventually, Justice looked no longer like the corpse of Kristoff, but like the man that he had been. Gwenna had no concept of how much time had passed.

When it was done, Anders once again took up the blade, and with it, drew a line through the circle of blood on the ground. Abruptly the incandescent veil of magic lifted. There was a weighty moment of silence, and then Anders collapsed.

Gwenna had a moment of profound déjà vu as she ran to him. He was pale as a specter and his breath was alarmingly shallow. She touched his cheek and the skin there was ice cold.

"Something's wrong!" She exclaimed, to no one in particular.

Justice replied, "The magic has weakened him greatly. He expended too much life force casting the spell. "

"How do you know this?" Gwenna demanded, "Did you know this would happen?"

"No, good woman, I swear I did not. I would never have allowed it, had I known," said Justice. "I feel him within me now. Through the ritual we are linked, the mage and I."

Gwenna's eyes widened. "Linked? You mean, like the Grey Wardens are linked to the Darkspawn through the taint?"

Justice thought about this. "The taint, yes. I do not feel this taint, but Kristoff has memories of it. I see it as an idea, an abstraction. I do believe that this is a similar bond"

"Justice, tell me, is Anders dying?" Gwenna's tone was pleading.

"The ritual could have killed him, but it did not. He is very weak, but he will recover."

"This is the second time that Anders has almost died because of something he did at my urging." She commented bleakly.

Justice regarded her momentarily, and then replied, "What you see is that this man has almost died because of you. What I see, is that you are the reason he lives."


	13. I Think We're Alone Now

_Okay, so this chapter is really just one big, shameless smutfest! I needed a little more hot Anders sex in my life, and I figured you did too, lol! Enjoy! ;P (More actual plot on the way soon.)_

It took Anders nearly a full week to recover. On the fifth day, Gwenna sent her remaining companions ahead to Amaranthine, with a promise from Nathaniel that he would return with supplies the next morning. Late that afternoon, as Gwenna sat alone by the campfire sharpening her blades, she heard a rustle from the tent behind her.

"Good day for it," a male voice commented glibly.

Gwenna dropped her dagger and was on her feet instantly. "Anders!" She cried, launching herself at the disheveled looking man.

Anders was not wearing his full robes, but merely the under-kilt portion that covered him from waist to knee, leaving his upper half bare. His strawberry blond mane, usually so perfectly groomed, was a greasy mess of tangles. His skin was slicked with sweat and he smelled as one might expect of a person who has spent the better part of a week stewing in his own juices. The five-o-clock shadow he usually kept had progressed into a wiry and unkempt looking growth. In that moment, however, no sight or smell imaginable could have been lovelier to Gwenna. She threw her arms around his bare shoulders and leveraged herself upward, clenching her legs around his waist.

"I'm happy to see you too, my darling girl," Anders laughed as Gwenna engulfed him.

She assailed him with kisses, devouring his mouth and face, gnawing hungrily at the salty skin of his neck. Anders luxuriated for several moments in the sweet taste of Gwenna's lips and the hot press of her weight against him. Then it occurred to him that she would not, under normal circumstances, have been this free with her affections in the middle of camp. They were alone, he realized.

Into her mouth he murmured, "Gwen? Where is everyone else?"

"Oh, I sent them ahead to Amaranthine this morning," she broke the kiss briefly to inform him. "Nathaniel will be back tomorrow with supplies."

"Supplies," Anders pulled away, confused. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Roughly five days. Almost six," she told him. "I was starting to worry that you wouldn't wake up at all. Justice kept telling me you would recover, but as the days passed… I was scared, Anders. Did you know this would happen when you agreed to do the ritual?"

The mage was visibly taken aback. "I knew it would drain me significantly. I did not expect it would do _that_."

"I'm just ecstatic you're alive," Gwenna breathed. "I'm so sorry I made you do that. I really should've trusted your judgment."

"You didn't make me do anything," argued Anders. "It did it because I felt it was the right thing to do, ultimately. And people say we maleficar have no compassion! Tsk, tsk."

Once again Gwenna covered him in kisses. This time, Anders did not interfere. His hand cupped her buttocks and gently lifted her up so that she was wrapped around his body, just as she had been before. Her strong legs clamped tightly around his waist and she pressed her pelvis against him as she probed his mouth with her tongue. The delicious friction of her soft warmth riding against the growing swell of his groin caused Anders to emit a covetous groan. He squeezed the firm flesh of her bottom and pulled her in closer.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, drinking in the mingling scents of her sweet skin and the clean, herbal fragrance of her freshly washed hair. He plunged his hands into the silken thickness of those red waves. His teeth claimed the tender skin on the side of her neck. Gwenna cried out, dragging her fingernails along his back.

Though they were camped quite a ways from the road, Anders carried Gwenna back to his tent to ensure their privacy. He laid her down on his sleeping furs and made a mission of undressing her without using his hands. He delighted in how she shivered with anticipation as he pulled off her panties with his teeth. She was already gloriously wet, which caused his manhood to throb almost painfully. Anders could feel, as he adjusted his engorged member to a more comfortable position, that he had released his own preliminary offering. He ran his thumb over the bead of clear fluid and presented it to Gwenna.

"See what you do to me?" He asked huskily.

"Mmmmm," Gwenna replied, with a salacious smile. She took his hand and sucked purposively at his thumb, cleaning it of the viscous fluid.

Anders let out a ragged breath. With one hand he caressed Gwenna's naked flesh, with the other he lifted the hem of his kilt and pulled himself free of his small clothes, stroking his throbbing cock. Gwenna gave him an appreciative moan. Realizing that she was enjoying the show, Anders spit into his palm and glided his fist deliberately up and down his own hard length. He made a performance out of it, using long, exaggerated strokes, pausing to massage the swollen tip, grunting from low in his throat. Eventually, it was too much for Gwenna to take. She made a move for him, but Anders backed just out of reach, putting himself away again.

"Uh, uh," he teased her. "You don't get to have that yet."

Gwenna gave him a saucy little pout, in response to which he provided her with his his best impish grin.

"I have other plans for you, Missy."

He reached then for her pert nipples, twirling them between thumb and forefinger. Suddenly, the air around them quivered and burgeoning warmth arose from within the tender pink flesh. The heat intensified to the point that it was almost unbearable, but Anders switched up the magic, and the sensation changed. Now he teased her with icy prickles of cold. Then it was back to the heat. He continued with this for some time, switching from one to the other, until Gwenna's back had arched completely off of the ground and all of her muscles trembled. Next, Anders slid his hands downward.

He leaned in and kissed Gwenna tenderly as his fingers found her moist, swollen nub. A familiar glow appeared around his hand and his fingers began, ever so faintly, to vibrate. After a moment, the vibrations intensified into a rapid, pulsating tremor. A high pitched moan escaped Gwenna's lips as she was claimed by a pleasure unlike anything she had ever felt. Her stomach tightened and she could no longer feel her extremities. Her limbs went lax, only her shoulders made contact with the ground. Anders continued, at intervals, to increase the frequency of the vibration until she was writhing furiously at his touch.

With his free hand, he inserted two fingers into her warm, eager slit. He played the same game with temperature as he had before, alternating between heat and cold, his fingers twisting inside her velvety core. Then, deciding he wanted to taste her, Anders placed his head between Gwenna's thighs, and began flicking his deft tongue over her clitoris. As he did this, he made the temperature-shifting fingers inside her pulsate, so that she was vibrating from within.

An endless stream of high-pitched whimpers escaped Gwenna, and she bucked violently under Anders' expert ministrations. The pressure of an immense orgasm was rising, starting all the way at her toes and working its way up, building momentum as it grew. Her vision went entirely white as she reached the point of rapture. Waves of indescribable pleasure passed through her, exiting by way of powerful lighting thrown from her extremities. Every nerve ending in her body tingled.

Anders knew when Gwenna was about to climax, and he sent a current of energy into her body just as she peaked. He wanted to give her the most intense orgasm of her life, and he succeeded. Gwenna didn't just come, she erupted. Her juices shot out in a jet stream that arced up into Anders' face as he finished her. Her breathing was labored, and her body thrashed beneath him.

"My Goodness, Gwen!" Anders exclaimed, with exhilarated laughter. "I didn't know you were capable of _that_!"

Gwenna's body continued to quake. When she was capable of speech, she exclaimed, "Holy Maker, Anders! That was—"

"Magical?" He offered with a cheeky grin.

She tried to administer a playful swat but her limbs were still too flaccid to cooperate. She rolled her eyes at him instead.

"Fucking incredible!" She corrected.

"I'm glad you thought so," said Anders, "Shall I give you a moment before I ravage you further?"

"Unless you like making love to ragdolls, yes. Please."

"No. I'm definitely a participation kind of man." He gave her another wide grin. Gazing down at her delicate features, Anders was overcome with love for the beautiful creature in his arms.

"Gwen," he said, tenderly.

"Anders," she replied, with equal tenderness.

The two lovers stared in one another's eyes for a long time. The moment was thick with things unsaid. Then Gwenna kissed him and Anders' desire raged once more. Gwenna tugged at the fabric of his kilt.

"Off with the dress, Sparkles," she demanded.

Anders laughed. "I believe it's 'Twinkles', actually."

"**Off!"**

"Aye, Commander," he said.

Seeing Anders in all of his glory, Gwenna couldn't help but have a taste of him. She knelt between his legs and took his entire length into her mouth. She took pleasure in sucking him, enjoyed the feel of his masculine hardness sliding down her throat. Anders awarded her efforts with guttural moans of pleasure.

"Gwen, stop! You're gonna make me come." He motioned for her to sit on top of him. "Come here to me. I want to be inside you."

Gwenna crawled over him, straddling his pelvis, gliding her wet slit along his member as she did so. She took his cock in her hand and rubbed the tip on her engorged clit. Anders shuddered with the raw power of his need. Gwenna kissed him hard on the lips as she lowered herself onto his manhood. She rocked slowly on top of him at first, creating a slow grind with her hips. Anders' eyes rolled back into his head and he groaned enthusiastically. Then she picked up the pace, bouncing vigorously up and down on his hard cock, sitting fully upright for deepest penetration.

Anders matched Gwenna's movements with his own voracious thrusting. He gripped her by the hips pulling her body forcefully down onto him. Gwenna used the strength of her thighs to keep up the rapid pace while still enjoying the full length of his member. As before, Anders was vocal in his enjoyment of the act. His throaty moans were loud and rapacious. Then his eyes began to roll backwards and his body stiffened. Gwenna knew his climax was upon him, so she rode him harder still. With a final emphatic cry, Anders thrust as deeply into her has he would fit, and unleashed copious amounts of ejaculate into her warm cove. His intense throes of passion sent Gwenna over the edge and she felt herself orgasming right along with him.

The elf and her mage spent several more hours reveling in the pleasures of each other's bodies. Eventually even stamina spells could not keep the pair of lovers from feeling spent. Gwenna lay nestled into the curve of Anders' arm, delighting in the many scents and sensations of their lovemaking. All of her most tender parts, inside and out, were chafed and raw, but it was a delectable kind of soreness. Anders had offered to cast a healing spell in order to alleviate her discomfort, but she had refused. Gwenna was enjoying the memory that each ache brought her. Collectively, they were like a road map of all the places on her body from which Anders had taken his pleasure, or given it.

After a long while, Gwenna spoke. "You know, considering you've had nothing but broth in your system for days, you held up quite impressively. You must be starving!"

Anders smiled. "Yes. Now that I've had my fill of your sweet offerings, I am hungry for food! And a bath."

"Indeed. You stink!" Gwenna teased him.

"And I'm all _sticky_," said Anders, wrinkling his nose in feigned disgust.

Gwenna stuck her tongue out at him.

Anders put his arm around her. "This has been really nice," he said, "being alone with you like this. No Darkspawn, no _dwarves_…"

Gwenna laughed. "Not a care in the world," she finished his sentence for him. "I wish it didn't have to end."

"It doesn't have to end completely," said Anders. "Some of the best bits are the ones we can take with us. Like, for me, the very best bit is how amazing I feel whenever I'm with you. I plan to keep that with me no matter what the circumstances. _You_ are a feeling I want to hold on to for a very long time, Gwen. For as long as you'll continue to have me. "

Gwenna buried her head in his chest. "I want so badly to believe that, Anders."

He had almost forgotten how recently and how badly she'd been hurt. Her words were like an arrow to the center of his heart, but he couldn't blame her for having trust issues. He, of all people should understand that. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face upward so that their eyes met.

"In that case, my sweet, I shall just have to see to it that belief is your only option," he assured her. "Now, how about that bath? I'm beginning to feel suspiciously like a doppelganger for Oghren, and that's a feeling I'd rather not hang on to."


	14. Friendly Advice

The sun had nearly reached its zenith by the time Nathaniel arrived back at camp. It had been his intention to set forth early, but complications in Amaranthine had arisen to delay him. He needed urgently to speak with the commander yet, upon entering the clearing, the camp appeared to be oddly deserted. No fire burned in the pit and only embering ashes remained as evidence that one had been there previously. The flap of Gwenna's tent hung open and both she and Anders' horses were still tethered nearby. Perhaps the commander had gone hunting for their morning meal, realizing that Nathaniel would not be making a hasty return. But then, if that were the case, why were her daggers cast haphazardly on the ground near the campfire, unsheathed? The commander was ordinarily extremely fastidious about the care of her blades, which made the scene even more unsettling. It looked as though something had taken the senior warden by surprise. What in the bowels of Thedas was going on here? Nathaniel took a step toward the Anders' tent.

Gwenna and Anders had slept late. Very late. Gwenna was spectacularly comfortable, cozied under the luxe layers of Anders' furs with the mage curled at her back, their bare limbs twining together like the shoots of some thirsty, heat-drinking vine. Nestled between them, was the warm weight of a softly purring Ser-Pounce-A-Lot. It appeared that Anders' small familiar wielded his own special power; that of keeping the two warden lovers over late in the sanctuary of their bed.

Anders' course scruff tickled the back of her neck, but she didn't bother moving. Even sleeping, it would cause him only to nuzzle closer if she tried to pull away. On second thought, she decided, maybe that was a perfect reason for her to do that very thing. She gently tried to untangle herself from his grasp, anticipating the usual dreamy murmuring that accompanied the feel of his arms groping blindly to reclaim her.

"And just where do you think you're going," came his entirely coherent demand.

Gwenna giggled mischievously. "Making you chase me," she told him.

Before she could get free, Anders snared her in a quick embrace. "Gotcha," he said, running his hands eagerly along the curves of her body. He nibbled at the back of her neck and she felt him rise to attention against her backside. Despite herself, Gwenna gave him a purr of encouragement.

In the next moment, as if out of nowhere, they became simultaneously aware of the sound of clinking armor and leathery footsteps as someone approached the tent.

_'Nathaniel!' _realized Gwenna, with wave of trepidation.

Before either of them had time to move, the flap of the tent was flung wide, leaving Gwenna and Anders exposed. Anders leapt into action, one hand flinging covers at Gwenna in an attempt to conceal her nudity, the other reaching frantically to close the tent. Sir-Pounce-A-Lot whined indignantly, displeased at the disruption of his slumber.

Nathaniel stood, dumbfounded, for a moment, unable to process what he was seeing. Then, realization landed and he slammed his eyes shut, backing away swiftly, in the direction of the fire pit.

Gwenna and Anders exchanged a horrified glance.

"Andraste's flaming sword!" Cursed Anders, " How did we not hear his horse approaching?"

"I don't know," replied Gwenna with an incredulous shake of her head. "That's not good, though. What if that had been a Darkspawn attack? Or- well, anything?"

Anders nodded slowly. "We let ourselves get far too distracted, an armature blunder. I believe we learned a lesson here today, Gwen. Thanks be to the Maker it wasn't anything more grim."

Gwenna's response was dismal. "Sometimes I really wish I could give all this up and just have a normal life."

"No you don't," he said. "And remember what I said to you last night. _For as long as you'll have me._ I mean it, Gwen, no matter what. Anders brushed his lips against hers. "Now- flip you for who gets to go out there and handle Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel had set work to rebuilding the campfire, if for no other reason than to busy himself, and to focus his thoughts. Everyone had suspected that something was developing between Anders and the commander, but Nathaniel had not been aware that the relationship had become a physical one. Not that he disapproved. Nathaniel had come, in recent weeks, to be quite fond of his Grey Warden companions, and he felt that Gwenna and the mage were a good personality match. It was his blue-blooded sense of propriety that was tormenting him presently.

First of all, there was the simple embarrassment of catching his friends in the midst of carnal pleasure; made even more awkward by the fact that one of them was his superior officer. Then, there was the unavoidable reality that Gwenna was an incredibly attractive woman. It wasn't that Nathaniel had any romantic inkling toward the commander, he didn't. If anything he thought of her as a feisty sister, one that he felt obligated to protect whenever she managed to get herself into some nasty scrape which, in her case, was often. Still, he was no less a man for all that. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed the touch of a woman and he was having a hard time pushing the thought of Gwenna's naked flesh, not to mention her exalted expression, out of his mind.

_ 'How in bloody Thedas am I supposed to look her in they eyes now?' _He thought, disgusted with himself, _'Bollocks!'_

Gwenna had decided that it was best if she was the one who handled things with Nathaniel. She approached him carefully, still having no idea what she planned to say, or how she might muster the gumption to look him in the face

"Good morning, Nathaniel," she said, "or afternoon, as I suspect."

Nathaniel turned slowly around, feeling relived when he saw that she was clad in full armor with her hair tightly bound, all commander again. He prayed that his unchivalrous thoughts were not plastered across his face.

"My lady," he began. " Commander, You have my sincerest apologies. I did not realize..."

"No, it's my fault. I was being careless. We both were, which is unacceptable." She told him. "I just want you to know, that this is not what it looks like. I really care about Anders. Well, I care about all of my wardens, obviously, but this is different."

"Lady, you don't owe me an explanation," said Nathaniel.

"I feel like I do," Gwenna told him. "I don't want you thinking that I make a habit out of casually cavorting with my wardens, with no regard for consequence. Anders is… special to me. However, I understand that we could've potentially compromised the mission, letting our guards down as we did today. I assure that will not happen again."

"Lady Gwenna," said Nathaniel, "may I speak to you as a friend?"

"Of course," she told him.

"The mage is a good man, if a little unorthodox. It seems to me that two of you bring out the best in each other, which, in my personal experience, is a rarity. Also, I believe he genuinely cares about you, so what right have I to disapprove?" He admitted, "That said, if he hurts you, I _will_ kill him.

Gwenna gave him an affectionate hug. "Thanks, Nate," she said.

"Any time, lady," Grinned Nathaniel. "You know you really do remind me of my sister. She was always very much her own woman, precocious, and entirely impossible."

Gwenna smiled at him.

"Talking about me again?" This from Anders.

Nathaniel turned to the mage. "Not this time, actually. I was just telling the commander how much she reminded me of my sister; wayward and difficult."

"That she is," said Anders," but we wouldn't have her any other way."

"No, I suppose we wouldn't," agreed Nathaniel.

"So sorry that you had to lug all those camping supplies out here for nothing," said Anders.

"Better to carry a load of supplies back and forth to Amaranthine than a body bag," he said. "It is good to see you well friend."

Then out of the commander's earshot, "And I see that you were being well tended to in my absence."

Anders colored. He gazed intently at his boots.

"You didn't think I was going to let it slide completely, now did you?" Nathaniel's grin was uncharacteristically sly. "Particularly not with you."

Anders was intensely red. He couldn't even look at his comrade in arms, much less speak. His expression was tortured.

Nathaniel laughed. "Forgive me, friend," he said, "I admit I may be capitalizing on this rare opportunity to see you squirm. It's nice to know that even the Untouchable Anders is capable of getting flustered every now and again."

Anders quailed. "I imagine I deserved that."

"You understand she's no plaything, I hope?"

At this, Anders looked up. Fixing his gaze on the older man he said, "I assure you, Ser Howe, my intentions are honorable. I love her, as it turns out."

"I see, " said Nathaniel, wavering between surprise and amusement._ 'Anders- in love, of all things!'_

"Have you told her this?" He then asked the mage.

Anders shook his head. "Not in so many words," he said. "I want to, of course, but given her history, I'm afraid it's too much too soon."

"You mean her history with the king, I take it?"

"So you know about that?"

"It doesn't require an expert sleuth to figure it out," said Nathaniel, "Alistair has not yet mastered the art of discretion."

Anders raised his eyebrows at Nathaniel's cavalier omission of the king's title.

"I knew the _boy_ before he was a king," explained Nathaniel. "Kingship has not changed him overmuch."

Anders was surprised at Nathaniel's overt derision, though he supposed he shouldn't have been. The Howes had been in league with Teryn Loghain, after all. Though, Nathaniel hadn't been directly involved with that, had he? Anders remembered him saying he'd been away in the Free Marches at the time. Perhaps it was simply a matter of loyalty to Gwenna. Gwenna had inspired a fierce protectiveness in her companions, though the commander was probably the one among them that required the least amount of protecting. Regardless, Anders was glad for her that she was the recipient of such devotion. He was also pleased to discover that he, himself, had an ally. Apparently there was a first for everything.

"Do you think I should tell her?" He asked.

Nathaniel ruminated on this for a moment. Then he said, "I think you are wise to consider the circumstances. In this situation, I believe that showing her how you feel will be more effective than telling her. Our commander is a woman of action. I presume this has much to do with the fact that, in her experience to date, words have often proven false."

"Yes," agreed Anders. "For one so genuine-hearted that must be devastating."

"I suspect that is precisely what it has been for her," said Nathaniel.

The two men stood considering each other for a long moment, a newfound respect germinating between them.

"Thank you, Nathaniel," said Anders after a time. "Truly."

"Just take care of her mage, that is all I ask," he said, "She deserves it."

Anders nodded solemnly. Then he said, "One last thing, Nathaniel. Can we keep this quiet for the time being? I don't want it to somehow undermine her authority as Commander of the Grey Wardens."

Nathaniel gave him an approving look. "You are astute in your thinking, as always, Ser Mage. You have my word."


	15. Phylactery

_Hi again! So, I've gotten really attached to Nathaniel all of a sudden, and I'm faced with a decision about how to handle that. Should I incorporate more of him in to this story, or wait and write one specifically for him? Decisions, Decisions. Please feel free to weigh in on this. I'd love to know what you guys think. Also, Thanks again for reading and for all of your comments and reviews. It keeps me inspired! :D_

About a mile outside of Amaranthine City, the travelers came upon a small tavern along the side of the road. Nathaniel motioned to Gwenna.

"Commander, would you mind terribly if we stopped? I have some things I'd like to discuss before we meet up with the other companions."

Gwenna gave him a questioning look. "If you think that's best, I trust your judgment. You certainly have me curious."

Anders interjected, "All things considered, I'd rather be sitting in a tavern."

Gwenna regarded him with a trace of annoyance. "Are you complaining _again_?"

Anders blanched. "Have you not noticed that it's bloody freezing outside today?" He asked.

"That's typically what happens in the winter," came Gwenna's tart reply.

"It looks like the weather isn't the only thing that's chilly," said Anders under his breath. He shot a look at Nathaniel, whose gaze was sympathetic.

The men made their way inside to commandeer a table, while Gwenna saw to it that the horses were properly attended. Once inside, Anders turned to Nathaniel.

"What the hell was that?" He demanded peevishly.

Nathaniel's tone was contrite. "She's embarrassed, because of what happened today. She's taking it out on you, I'm afraid. Women do this when they don't know what else to do with their feelings. She'll get over it, just give it some time. And try not to instigate in the meantime."

Anders shook his head. "I didn't realize I was instigating in the first place."

Nathaniel appraised the dapper, yet streetwise young mage. "I don't believe you've exaggerated about your, um, experiences, so how is it that you seem to know so little about women?"

Anders smiled weakly. "Nathaniel, I know exactly how to handle a woman in the bedchamber, but otherwise... Suffice it to say that being constantly on the run, or locked in a tower is not a lifestyle that lends itself to serious relationships."

"In some ways you're just as naive as the Bastard Prince himself," said Nathaniel, bemused.

Anders glared at him. "I like you, Nathaniel, but I will not hesitate to set you on fire."

At this, Nathaniel laughed heartily. "I'm sorry! It's actually quite endearing coming from you, if rather unexpected. Tell me, Anders, is this the first time you've ever been in love?"

"Not the first, no," answered the mage, "There was one other, Ahmina. She was one of the circle apprentices in the tower right around the time I completed my Harrowing. I was all of nineteen. It's hard to believe that was a full decade ago. Anyway, Ahmina was very devout to the Circle and to the Chantry, but I adored her anyway. She was so painfully sweet and angelic; she actually had me playing by the rules for a time. Then, about a year in, I confessed to her my feelings about the Circle and my deep longing for freedom. I told her about my plan to escape again and asked her to run away with me. I was so callow back then, I actually believed she loved me enough to do it."

"I take it she didn't go?" Nathaniel asked.

"Not hardly," said Anders dryly, "She turned me in to the Templars that very night. That's when I made my first acquaintance with the stone paradise that is solitary confinement."

"Anders, I'm so sorry," said Nathaniel.

Anders merely shrugged, but his expression was less than casual.

Just then, Gwenna appeared.

"What's with dour faces?" She demanded, "Are we just going to mope the day away?"

Nathaniel shot her a look of warning. "Anders was just telling me about then time he had his heart broken," he informed her pointedly.

Gwenna felt a pang of shame. She was being surly for no good reason; meanwhile Anders was confiding a painful memory to Nathaniel. Since when had they become such good buddies, she wondered?

_'Maybe it's because he's scared to even look at you right now,'_ she admonished herself. _'Stop being jerk!'_

She placed her hand on top of Anders' as she sat down and mouthed the word, _'sorry'. _He looked slightly dejected, but nodded.

"So," she now addressed Nathaniel, "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

"Well, first off, we have another issue with Justice," he said. "It would seem that Anders' was a little too successful in making him look alive. The locals believe he's Kristoff. Justice however, does not understand the concept of the little white lie. People are becoming suspicious of his behavior. There was a bit of an incident with the serving girl, but I managed to diffuse it by telling her he was delirious. We need to get him out of Amaranthine before word gets out that Kristoff is alive, and someone else comes looking for him."

"Like his wife," said Gwenna.

"Exactly," said Nathaniel. " Also, he may still be recognized at Vigil's Keep. I don't know how we're going prove he is not Kristoff without exposing our-" he glanced at Anders, "our magical involvement."

"I see," said Gwenna, running a frustrated hand across her eyelids. "I didn't think this whole Justice situation through very well, did I?"

"I think I know how to remedy this," said Anders. "It's pretty simple actually, and I should have thought of it before. I will create a glamour charm. Mages and other magically inclined people will know it's there, but nobles use them all the time to appear more attractive. It should go relatively unnoticed."

Gwenna and Nathaniel nodded in unison.

"Okay," said Gwenna, "That works for me. Was there something else, Nathaniel?"

"Well, yes. I'm afraid this one might be worse. I ran into the Dark Wolf this morning."

"Oh?" Gwenna raised her eyebrows.

"He caught up with me on my way out of the city. How he knew who I was, I don't know. He asked me to tell you that your conspiring nobles will meet at Old Stark's Farm at sundown on the full moon of this month. That was all the information he would offer, but insisted that would be enough. For one who refuses to show his face, that man is awfully brazen," commented Nathaniel.

"Indeed. I suppose I have to decide what to do with that now," said Gwenna unhappily.

"There was more, Commander. He also told me to tell you, and he made me promise to quote him verbatim, that: "The Grey Wardens yet have enemies. I break my code as it is, saying this much. I will say no more, but be extremely wary."

Gwenna's eyes went wide. "That's rather sinister. What am I even supposed to do with that?"

"I don't know Commander," said Nathaniel, "But I suggest you take his advice."

Later that day, once in the city, the group made their way back to the Crown and Lion Inn to catch up with Oghren and Justice. A rough looking elven woman intercepted them on their way.

"Anders!" The woman addressed the mage gruffly. "It's about time you showed up!"

"Namaya!" Exclaimed Anders. His tone was shocked but his face remained guarded. "You're still here?"

Nathaniel and Gwenna exchanged a curious glance.

The elf woman said, "_**I **_keep my promises! Here." She handed Anders a slip of parchment. "It turns out you were right. The cache is here in Amaranthine."

Anders' mouth fell slightly agape. "It is? You found it!"

The woman pursed her lips. "I did," she replied tersely. "What you do with that information is up to you. I, for one, am done dealing with mages."

Anders looked at her with an expression that fell somewhere between gratitude and regret. "Uh... I guess I should thank you," he said awkwardly.

"Damned right you should!" Replied the elf indignantly. "You get caught, Anders, I'm not helping you again. That's all I'm saying."

Anders' eyes lingered on the woman as she walked away, a series of emotions darkening his visage. When she was out of sight, the mage turned to his companions.

"I, uh, suppose that requires some explanation," he stuttered. `

Gwenna was staring daggers at him. "Friend of yours, I take it?"

Anders sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Yes. Namaya is a... friend. Last time I escaped the tower I asked her to look into some things. That's why I was in Amaranthine in the first place. The Templars thought I'd come to take a ship, but it was to meet her."

"To find a chache?" Asked Nathaniel, before Gwenna had a chance to speak.

"During the blight the Templars moved their store of phylacteries to Amaranthine for safety. My phylactery is among them, Namaya learned. So long as the Templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me. I need to destroy it," explained the mage.

Gwenna's face softened. She was not at all convinced that Namaya had been just a friend, but that thought was superceded momentarily, by how loathe she was to the knowledge that Templars were permitted to hunt mages down like dogs. Even slaves were free if they could manage to escape. It was absolutely disgusting!

"You're right," she said. "They shouldn't be allowed to control you like that."

He gave her an appreciative smile. "I know we're busy killing Darkspawn and all, but the sooner we find this vial, the better I'll feel."

"Very well, Anders. We'll find your phylactery before we leave."

"Thank you, Gwen," he said with meaning, "The better part of my life has been spent toward that end. It means so much to me. It's huge."

Gwenna merely nodded, but for some reason, she was unable to make eye contact.

Since it was best to seek out the phylactery under the cover of darkness, the group was biding their time at the Crown and Lion Inn until nightfall. Anders had created the glamour charm for Justice, and they had all retired to their rooms for a little down time. Gwenna was deep in thought when someone came knocking.

"It's Anders, Gwen. Please open up."

Gwenna opened the door and returned to where she had been sitting on the bed. Anders sat next to her.

"Please talk to me. I can tell you're upset. Is it because of what happened at camp? Is it because of Namaya?"

Gwenna closed her eyes.

"Gwenna, tell me what you're thinking."

The elf looked at him. "That woman wasn't just your 'friend', Anders. I'm not completely dim."

Anders sighed. "You're not _dim_ in the slightest. It's just- It's complicated. I didn't want to get into all of it right then and there. What do you want to know?"

"Is she the one? Is she the girl that broke you're heart?"

Anders laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No. In fact I think it may have been I that broke hers," he admitted.

"Oh, that's better," said Gwenna sarcastically.

"I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't even realize she felt that way, until it was too late," explained Anders. "There is a certain type person that an escaped apostate can turn to, a person that lives on the fringes, in the underground, as it were. Namaya was one of those. She may be female, but she is no lady, I assure you. I always operated under the assumption that ours was an arrangement of convenience. She did me favors when I needed them, and I warmed her bed without giving her a lot of flack. You should've seen some of the shady characters she was known to shack up with. I was a welcomed reprieve, believe me."

"But she was in love with you," Gwenna interrupted.

Anders hung his head. "Apparently so," he said sadly. "Although, she never really knew me well enough to truly love me. I think she loved the idea of me. She saw me as some dark and mysterious rebel. She fancied the image of the tormented demagogue, the rambling lost soul. What she never understood is, that is who I became out of necessity, not because that's really who I am. Gwen, all I want is to live happily, like everybody else. I don't want to be a man on the run for the rest of my life! What I would love, more than anything, is to finish my days in a small cottage by the sea, with a cat in the window and a dog in the yard. Perhaps with a plump wife and several nubile mistresses." That last was a joke, but Anders' eyes twinkled at the prospect of a simple life.

He looked seriously at Gwenna, then. "Or, better still, one nubile wife and several pointy-eared children," he said.

She fixed him with an unreadable gaze.

Making light again, he said, " Come on! You know how lovely I think your ears are!"

Finally, Gwenna cracked a smile.

"Gwenna, I promise you, I have had many women, but I am no womanizer. I take no joy in breaking a woman's heart. That is the truth."

Gwenna regarded him for a long moment. His pale amber eyes pleaded with her to believe, begged her not to lose respect for him.

"I know I'm not your first, or your only," she said, "But it's not easy for me to look your past directly in the face."

"Yeah, I know a little bit about that," he said.

Gwenna looked away from him, chagrined. Anders had just put her in check, and she had deserved it.

"Oh, and by the by," he continued, " You are, in fact, my only. For as long as you choose to be around, Gwen, you will be my one and only."

Once the sky had turned completely dark, the Grey Wardens headed out into the night, in search of Anders' phylactery. The address on the parchment led them to an abandoned warehouse deep in the market district. The building was locked up tight.

"How do we propose to get in? There isn't so much as a crack in the stone," observed Anders glumly.

Gwenna gave him a knowing grin. "Don't you worry. We'll get in. Just cover me."

She slid a lambskin pouch from the inside of her boot and made two selections from the array of strange looking instruments inside. She then set to work inserting the tools into the hefty locking mechanism on the door. After a moment she felt the bearings click into place and the lock opened. She turned the knob and motioned for Anders to enter.

"Ser Mage," she said with a sweep of her arm.

Anders regarded her with a mix of disbelief and amazement. "You pick locks, too?" He said, shaking his head.

Gwenna merely shrugged.

Inside they found many chests full of various and sundry valuables, but there was not a phylactery to be found. She wouldn't say it to Anders, but Gwenna was beginning to feel a bit uneasy. At least there was still another room to investigate.

Anders had,likewise, sensed that something was off. "Why are there no guards here," the mage mused. "Maybe they don't want to draw attention to the cache? Are we that lucky?" He didn't sound convinced.

Having turned up nothing of merit in the main room, the group moved on. What they found in the adjacent room stopped them dead in their tracks. Several Templars stood waiting for them, Rylock positioned at their head. Gwenna felt her blood run cold. Hatred seethed in ever fiber of her being. She looked to Anders, but his face had gone utterly blank.

It was Rylock who spoke, "And to think I almost thought the infamous Anders wouldn't take the bate," she sneered.

"Ha!" Laughed Anders falsely, "Yes, I suppose I should have known it would be you!"

"You made a poor choice with this one Commander, " continued the Templar, "Anders will never submit to anyone. Not to us and not to you."

"The difference is that the Grey Wardens don't ask for submission, Templar. And speaking of poor choices, I would love to hear about the Chantry's position on sadists," spat Gwenna.

Rylock smiled, and it was an ugly gesture. "It matters not what you say Grey Warden, we are here to take this murderer off the street, once and for all."

Anders became incensed. "What? You can't arrest me! King Alistair allowed my conscription. You were there!"

"The Chantry supercedes the crown in this matter," protested Rylock.

"Since when?" Gwenna and Nathaniel replied simultaneously.

"Since King Alistair signed this decree," said Rylock smugly, producing a roll of parchment for Gwenna to inspect, complete with the royal seal. "Your mage can no longer hide within the ranks of the Grey Wardens. And I can smell the blood magic on you, Anders!"

For a moment, Gwenna thought she might faint. _' Alistair! How could he do this? __**Why**__?' _

Then, she felt her hurt morph into something hard. The burning, seething hate she felt expanded within her, turning her cold.

"No," she said evenly, "He stays with us."

"Hardly surprising," said Rylock, "They Grey Wardens have ever been a haven for criminals and maleficar. I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you not. Now you come with us."

Anders looked at Gwenna, hopelessness and despair tangible entities in his gaze.

Gwenna's heart would have broken in that moment, were it not encased in the hard steel of her rage. With unfathomable swiftness, she had Rylock by the throat against the stone wall. She drew a dagger and held it at the Templar's jugular.

In a calm, predatory voice that was barely a whisper, Gwenna said, "You will take that mage over my lifeless, rotting corpse, you sadistic _cunt_. "

"Gwenna, don't do this!" Anders pleaded.

It was too late. Gwenna's vision had gone red. All of her senses honed in on the flimsy pulse in the Templar's throat, on the blood that coursed just beneath the thin skin there. She wanted to see it run.

"You'll hang for this," choked Rylock.

"And it will be worth every torturous second," retorted Gwenna with a barbaric sneer.

A fight had already erupted between her companions and the remaining Templars. Gwenna had eyes only for Rylock. She looked the Templar directly in the face as she dragged her blade across the woman's throat, slowly, making sure the she felt every bit of it.

"This," Gwenna hissed at her, "Is for every time you beat him, for every humiliation he endured at your depraved hand." She stopped just short of severing the artery, inflicting a wound that, though still fatal, would not bleed out too quickly. "You will bleed to death, Templar. It will be a slow and excruciating demise, and I hope you spend every agonizing second of it thinking about how you allowed a man to be raped, _**raped**_, to satisfy your own sick urges. You are a pollution on the goodness of the Maker, Ser Rylock. How does it feel to have someone get off on _your_ suffering? Maybe I should fuck him right here, over your mutilated shell of a body, so that it's the last thing you see before you die. How does that sound, hmmmmmm?"

At that, Rylock gurgled frantically trying, in vain, to voice a furious retort.

"Ah, Ah, Ah!" Chided Gwenna cruelly, "I don't think so." With that the Grey Warden Commander severed the Templars tongue, flinging it on the ground and grinding it under her boot. She fixed the dying woman with one last, wrathful glare. Then, she spit into Rylock's mangled face and turned on her heel, not bothering to look back.

When Gwenna turned around, her companions were still finishing off the last of the Templars. Good. Only one of them had not joined the fray. Anders stood frozen in place staring at her, wide eyed. She pulled a rag out of her boot and wiped the blood from her dagger.

"Lets go," was all she said.

When the Grey Wardens were out of sight, Namaya stealthily entered the warehouse. It must not have gone well for the Templars, as Anders had still been with the Wardens when they left. Namaya rushed into the far room and almost tripped over the pile of bloody carnage on the floor. She had to take several deep breaths to keep from being ill. They were dead. All dead.

Then, she heard it. The faintest gurgling sound, coming from the far wall. It was Rylock. Her throat had been slit and her tongue cut out, but she was alive.

"Can you hear me?" Namaya demanded.

Rylock emitted another faint gurgle.

"Ooookkkaaay," muttered Namaya. "It's okay! Let's get you to a healer. Everything will be just fine."


	16. The Thing About Almost

_For Anders:_

_I am the son,_

_And the heir,_

_Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar,_

_I am the son and heir,_

_Of nothing in particular,_

_You shut your mouth,_

_How can you say?_

_I go about things the wrong way?_

_I am human and I need to be loved,_

_Just like everybody else does._

_-The Smiths_

Anders had been pacing the room, nonstop, for over an hour. Gwenna sat on the bed, watching him carve invisible ruts into the hardwood floor with his boots. He had refused to talk to her since they left the warehouse, yet he had come back with her to her room instead of retiring to his own. Not that retiring was something that seemed to be even remotely on his agenda in the near future.

"Please come sit down, Anders," she entreated him for what had to be the hundredth time since they'd arrived. "I don't even care anymore if you won't talk to me, but for Andraste's sake, give your feet a rest!"

He looked at her then, as he had also done easily dozens of times over the course of the last hour. His usually placid hazel eyes now cycled rapidly through multitudinous shades of color, morphing from stormy green, to depthless brown, to hot golden yellow. It was like a whirring film reel of all the warring emotions that fought to take control of his psyche.

Gwenna wanted so badly to touch him, to hold him in her arms and tell him it would be okay, but he wouldn't let her anywhere near him. He looked at her like he was afraid of her, like he'd looked into her soul and seen a demon. It broke the elf in two to see him regard her like that, as if she were some feral beast that might eat him alive if he let her out of his sight for so much as a second. She wanted to run into the street, screaming and crying. She yearned to fling her body, wailing, onto the cobblestones and wallow there in self-immolation. Her humiliation would be her penance.

Yet somehow, Gwenna could not force herself to move. She sat, immobile on the bed, alternating between staring at Anders and staring at nothing. Everything about her felt numb. Her thoughts were fuzzy, disjointed transmissions. Anders had continued to stare at her, she realized dimly.

"What?" She asked, deadpan.

Anders winced, exhaling forcefully. He gripped his head with his hands, so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was rocking back and forth, fighting back angry tears. It was a fight he did not win.

"Fuuuuuuuccccckk!" It was both a sob and growl. "Gwenna, what the _fuck _did you do? What did you _do_?"

She stared back at him, emotionless. "I killed the woman that hurt you," she said matter-of-factly.

Anders glared at her, appalled. "You killed her? Is that what you said? You killed her? Gwenna you murdered that woman in cold blood! You _mutilated_ her!" His voice was high pitched with panic.

She felt as though her mind was not computing some essential part of the data. In that moment, she honestly could not understand his ire. Though she wasn't able to feel it, when she spoke, her voice sounded wounded.

"I did it for you. I wanted her to suffer like you suffered. I wanted her to understand," she told him. "I needed to know that she would never hurt you again."

Hot tears streamed down Gwenna's face. She hadn't even realized she was crying.

"Please stop looking at me like I'm a monster."

Anders dropped into a nearby chair, all at once, disarmed.

"What do you want me to say, Gwen? You murdered someone! For me! I feel a million things right now and I can't make sense of any of it! I just keep playing it over and over in my head, and each time it elicits a different, confounding response. I'm horrified, but I'm also thrilled. I am disgusted, but I am immeasurably grateful. The truth is that what you did was monstrous, but I don't see you as a monster. I see you as my savior, and how sick is that? You would not have done what you did if I didn't _matter_ to you. In an incredibly disturbed kind of way, that was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me!"

Gwenna was shaking uncontrollably. "I don't know what came over me. When I saw her face, and I thought about what she'd done to you, I wanted her to feel pain. I _enjoyed_ causing her pain!" She croaked.

Anders moved to sit by Gwenna, unable to ignore her torment. He wrapped his arms around her. "I am moved by this. Incredibly so," he said into her hair. "I am also scared. I hope to the Maker that I am worth all this trouble, Gwenna, because I suspect it is going to be quite _a lot_ of trouble."

"What do you mean?" Gwenna sniffed.

"We killed Templars, Gwen, in defiance of a royal decree. It's not a small thing. I hope you understand the magnitude. Someone will have to answer for this. You have just put your title, your position, and your very life at risk. I just pray you haven't made a rash decision."

Gwenna took a deep breath. She said nothing. Anders continued.

"You know, they still have my phylactery, and they will find me, eventually. If you should decide that this isn't what you really want, you can turn me over to the Templars. I will say you had nothing to do it. There is no one alive who will tell them any differently. You can still change your mind, Gwen."

"Anders, why would you say such a thing?" Gwenna demanded. "What do you mean if this isn't what I want? That I can change my mind?"

"You've been through a lot, Gwen. You were in a very vulnerable position when I met you. Look, I know that I favor him. You're not the first to have noticed it. And I've been told we share a similar wit. It makes sense, that you would find a certain solace in my arms, but I don't want you turning your life upside down over the next best thing. You've worked very hard to get where you are, and I will never be the king of Ferelden."

"Anders-" Gwenna began.

Anders silenced her. " No. Hear me out, Gwen. I couldn't live with myself if you gave up everything you have for my sake, only to realize one day that, all the while, I was just 'almost Alistair'."

"Anders," Gwenna breathed, a torturous lump rising in her throat. "Is that what you think? Is that what you think you are to me, a cheap imitation of Alistair?"

Anders hung his head. "I don't... know," he said, "But I need to, I just realized. I need to know."

Gwenna took the man's face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Anders," she said, her tone insistent, "you are _not_ almost Alistair! If anything, he is almost you, but not even almost!"

Anders choked back a sob. He tried to pull away.

Gwenna persisted. "Listen to me," she pleaded. "Alistair will never be the man that you are. There is good in him, but he doesn't know is own mind. He is a puppet, Anders, and sadly he has yet to find a way to free himself of his strings. I'm not sure he understands that they even exist. You, on the other hand, are nothing if not freethinking. You are fierce in your convictions. You stand for what is right, but not out of loyalty to some arbitrary dogma that you've been force fed, but because you believe in your own truth."

"Gwenna, please. Be realistic! I am a self-preservationist, and a coward."

"I don't care what you've done in your past, Anders. In the time that I've known you, the only remotely selfish act I've seen you commit, is to fight for the one thing all beings deserve anyway - freedom. So is that truly selfishness? Not in my eyes. And if you are the coward you say you are, then why are you still here?"

Anders did not answer her.

"Anders, I am so in love with you that I can't see straight! You _have_ turned my world upside down, but in the best possible way! I am truly a better person for having known you! You have been instrumental in helping me to broaden my horizons, and to open my mind. Because of your influence, I am a kinder, more understanding person. I think about who I used to be and I am appalled by my own past intolerances. There is no going back for me."

Anders was crying openly now. His face was an atlas of raw emotion. Gwenna positioned her face as close to his as she could and still look him in the eyes.

She said, "You are not _almost_ anything to me, Anders. You are absolutely everything!"

Anders threw his arms around her, sobbing into the curve of her neck. He held her so tightly she could scarcely breathe.

"I love you too, Gwenna. So, so much! I wanted so badly to tell you, but..."

Once again, she forced him to meet her gaze. "It would be really great if things in life fit into neatly wrapped little packages, but they don't. They just don't. You take your happiness where you can find it."

"What are we going to do, Gwen?"

"We're going to do what we always do. Fight Darkspwan and champion the causes we believe in."

"This could all go very badly for us, you understand that?" Said Anders.

Gwenna smiled. "Maybe. But don't forget, we've got the Spirit of Justice on our side. And we've got very loyal friends. And we've got each other. We've faced worse than this in our time."

"That's very optimistic of you," sighed Anders, "I'm not convinced it's warranted but, for better or worse, I am with you."


	17. Drowning

_For Alistair:_

_All around me are familiar faces,_

_Worn out places, worn out faces,_

_Bright and early for the daily races,_

_Going nowhere, going nowhere,_

_Their tears are filling up their glasses,_

_No expression, no expression,_

_Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow,_

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow,_

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad,_

_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had,_

_I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take,_

_When people run in circles it's a very, very_

_Mad world_

_-Gary Jules_

Alistair sat in his study with the shutters thrown wide, despite the bitter chill. An arctic blast had seized Denerim and held it hostage for days. The wind howled mercilessly and the sky was a frenzy of white. A forceful sideways gale blew the snow inside, causing it to pile in drifts on the windowsill and the floor.

Though the fire burned low, three quarters of a decanter of whiskey had numbed the king's senses, and he sat presently staring into the nearly empty depths of his cup. He considered that emptiness for a long, serious moment then poured another refill.

Alistair had busied himself, for most of the evening, with the polishing of Duncan's shield, an activity he engaged in more than was necessary of late, but the liquor had finally gotten the best of him. His hands no longer obeyed commands and he found he needed to close one eye in order to focus his vision.

Now, he sat watching the snowfall, mired in the nostalgia of days gone by. He thought about the white-capped mountains of the Frostback, and of Haven village. He thought about the ruined temple of Andraste, its beauty simultaneously eclipsed and enhanced by towering drifts of snow. Alistair reminisced about the diffuse light that fell among the columns of that sacred hall, prisming spectacularly as it ricocheted off of colossal stalactites of ice. If he closed his eyes, he could almost sense the hallowed silence of the place.

He remembered, with fondness, the solemn awe that had overcome the faces of Wynne and Lelianna. With an intense pang of regret, he remembered Gwenna. She had been like a fiery jewel among the pristine whiteness of the ruins. He would never forget the expression of steely determination on her face as she confronted the gauntlet, or the one of devout passion when they had finally laid eyes upon the Sacred Urn.

He remembered kissing her in the snowfall, watching snowflakes flutter down onto the flyaway wisps of her helmet-mussed hair. He could picture, vividly, the way her eyes had sparkled, tiny frozen crystals decorating the tips of her eyelashes like a fine lace.

Hours after that kiss, Alistair had almost fallen to the high dragon. Though he'd cast the final blow, the beast had nearly torn him asunder before it fell. He had thought for sure that he would bleed out, right there on the mountaintop, but Wynne's healing and his companions' caring hands had saved his life. He bore the scars to this day. They were a constant reminder of a day that would stand forever in Alistair's mind as one of the single most wondrous experiences of his life. Every moment of it, from the mundane to the frightening, to the fantastically divine was burned into the flesh of his memories. If he closed his eyes and thought about it hard enough, he could almost place himself back there.

Those days, sadly, were long behind him. His world had undergone dramatic changes since those exalted times, a dark shadow having been permanently cast over their former bright glory. Alistair drained his cup and poured the remaining contents of the whiskey decanter into the empty vessel.

At that moment, Queen Anora entered. Her gaze held a mixture of pity and contempt.

"Come to bed, Alistair," she said, "It's late."

Alistair shook his head. "Retire without me, my queen," he said thickly, "There are matters of state that need my attention."

Anora's skepticism was palpable. Her eyes fell to the empty liquor bottle. She gave the king a disapproving look.

"I can see that you are indisposed. I suppose I will leave you to it. Good night, Alistair," she said, turning on her heel to exit. The king was left, once more, to the solitude of his own dispirited thoughts.

He had not been completely untruthful with Anora. Political matters were, in fact, plaguing him. Alistair had been trying desperately to stifle their presence in his mind, but presently, they began to resurface. The blond elf, Namaya, had returned to palace two days prior, just before the storm broke. She had arrived alone, without Templar escort, and had brought disturbing news of the Grey Wardens.

According to Namaya, the Templars had all been killed, or almost all of them. The mage, Anders, had taken their bait and come to the warehouse in search of his phylactery. The Grey Wardens had accompanied him. The elf, or so she had told the king, had not witnessed the fight, having been stationed near the road as a lookout. According to her story, she had realized that something was wrong when the Wardens had exited with the mage in tow, all of them perfectly intact.

Upon entering the building, she told him, she'd discovered that the Templars had been ruthlessly cut down. Rylock alone had been left alive, but it was something that had been clearly accidental. Namaya said the Templar knight had been brutally maimed, her throat silt and her tongue removed. The blood loss had, apparently, been extensive.

Namaya believed it was the mage's doing, but Alistair was unconvinced. If Anders had wanted to kill Rylock, he could have easily done so with his own magic. He was, truth told, more powerful than Rylock, and she would not have been able to disarm him had he chosen to overwhelm her.

Also, mages were unable to tolerate metal of any kind in close proximity to their person. Refined metals interfered with their magical abilities. For this reason, mages did not wear armor and were not typically trained in the use of weapons. There was no way that the mage could have inflicted the caliber of wounds that Namaya had described. He simply would not have had the proficiency.

No, if the elf's description was accurate, an experienced hand had dealt Rylock's injuries. Not to mention, a weapon of any great size could not have made the slit in her throat, as such a gash would have severed her to the bone and she would have bled out almost instantly. Namaya would have never found her alive. A smaller blade, one wielded by an expert hand, must have inflicted the cut that the elf had illustrated. Alistair knew of only one person, certainly only one Grey Warden, who used the type of weapon, and was possessed of the kind of surgical precision, to administer such a wound.

'_Gwenna,'_ he acknowledged reluctantly.

The king was suddenly reeling as he validity of that thought descended on him. Gwenna had been the one to murder Rylock. Gwenna had tortured the woman and left her for dead. The Grey Wardens had been witness to all of it, and had likely aided her in dispatching the other Templars. They had all sided against him in order to protect the mage.

He would need to have an audience with Rylock, before he took action. She was still recovering in Amaranthine and was yet unable to weather the journey to Denerim. If the Templar corroborated Namaya's story, the Grey Wardens would become, once again, fugitives. This time, it would be more than a malicious rumor, as their alleged crimes constituted high treason. If they were found guilty, Alistair would have no choice but to execute the lot of them. The Chantry would allow him no other recourse.

The king was suddenly overcome with a vision. He saw the Grey Wardens standing in a line, a noose draped loosely around each of their necks, executioners waiting silently to pull the ropes. He watched himself give the command that authorized the hanging of his brethren. Alistair looked on as, one at a time, each Warden was hoisted into the air, their feet flailing wildly. He beheld the cold hatred in Gwenna's mahogany eyes as they bore into him, felt her panic as she lost consciousness.

Alistair's stomach lurched. He flew to the window and vomited copiously out into the blustery night. Sick and spent, his body slid to the floor and he rested his head against the cool stone of the wall. He was too far-gone to notice the wet snow melting through clothes.

How had this happened? How had it possibly come to this? Though logic told Alistair that he had done only what was right, his heart nagged at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was all, somehow, his fault. The king of Ferelden was on the edge of an epiphany, but it just wouldn't come to him. Realization circled the perimeter of his whiskey-addled brain, but refused to land. After a time, he drifted off into a disturbed and restless sleep. His dreams were disjointed, vexed with images of snow and blood, of violence and peace, and of eyes. The eyes belonged to no one in particular, and yet to everyone imaginable. They were Gwenna's eyes, and Duncan's. They were Eamon's, and Wynne's and Morrigan's. They were Anora's and Rylock's. They were Anders'. They were his own eyes and they were the eyes of the Maker.

Queen Anora found Alistair the following morning still slumped by the open window, soaked to the bone, shivering and covered with snow. His lips and digits had taken on a bluish cast, and his skin was ghostly pale.

The queen exhaled heavily, lifting her husband gingerly out of a frozen pile of his own sick. She wrapped a woolen blanket around his quavering frame, and called for a servant.

"Take the king to the infirmary," she commanded, with more than a note of exasperation. "He is need of healing—again."


	18. The Gift

_This is a short, fluffy one. Since the last few chapters were so extremely heavy, I felt like I needed to inject something a little lighthearted. At least, for the moment, there will be a reprieve from all of the crying, lol!_

The Grey Wardens knew that they needed to make a hasty departure from Amaranthine. Everyone had been too rattled to leave immediately, so they had agreed to set forth for Vigil's Keep first thing the following morning. Gwenna arose at dawn and headed toward the market district, hoping to catch the shops as they were just opening, before the crowds appeared. She planned to sell off whatever unclaimed loot that the party had acquired so that they would be able to travel lighter and more swiftly. Practical though her reasoning was, it was not the only purpose for the elf's early outing. There was a very specific item that she was also in the market to purchase.

On their initial visit to Amaranthine, Gwenna and companions had spent an afternoon in the market, perusing the various wares. Though it was not the largest or most fancy city in Ferelden, Amaranthine was home to many skilled artisans. One merchant booth, she remembered, had caught Anders' eye, specifically. It was to this place that Gwenna was headed now.

She intercepted the jeweler just as he was arriving to open his shop. '_Fortuitous timing,'_ she thought.

"Good day to you, Ser," Gwenna greeted the shopkeeper. "I am glad to find you open for business at this hour. I am looking to find a gift for someone very special to me."

"Good morning to you, Lady," replied the man, jovially, "early bird gets the worm, eh?"

Gwenna smiled. "You've got it! I enjoy giving a gift first thing in the morning, that way it keeps the recipient smiling all day."

" Hmmm. Pretty and thoughtful," the jeweler commented, "Your special someone is lucky indeed."

"Ser, you are too kind. I must admit, however, that my motives are not entirely selfless. Nothing makes my heart soar like that _someone's_ smile. I'm looking forward to seeing a lot of it today," said Gwenna.

The jeweler laughed warmly. "Ah, a woman in love, I see! In that case, my good lady, we shall see to it that this man of yours is smiling well past sundown! Was there anything specific you had in mind?"

Gwenna returned the Crown and Lion Inn just in time to find her companions already outside, preparing the horses. Anders was busy assembling his gear, and hadn't noticed her arrival. She snuck up behind him and placed her hands over his eyes as if they were blinders.

"Guess who?"

Anders jumped. "Gwen, you startled me!"

He turned to greet her, and she noticed that his expression was wan. None of them had slept well the previous night and the handsome mage was looking a little worse for the wear. His eyes were visibly tired and his trademark sprightly smirk was a whisper of its usual self. Still, he managed to muster enough of a smile to convince her that he was happy to see her. Happy, and maybe even slightly relieved.

"We were wondering where you'd run off to," he said. "You almost had me worried."

Gwenna smiled tenderly. "No need to worry," she said, "I just had and errand to attend to. An errand with you in mind, Anders." She winked at him.

Recognizing his own words, Anders couldn't help but grin. "You have me intrigued," he said.

Gwenna pulled two neatly wrapped gift boxes out of her pack and held them out in front of her, one in each hand. "Pick one," she instructed.

Anders looked at her, bemused. He pointed to the box in her right hand. "That one," he said.

Gwenna handed him the small box, which he gingerly unwrapped. Inside was, what looked to be, a leather and steel bracelet interwoven with tiny silver bells. Upon closer inspection, Anders realized it was a pet collar.

"Gwen!" he exclaimed. "You got Ser-Pounce-A lot his very own collar!"

Anders reached into his knapsack and extracted the wriggling feline from its depths. He proceeded to fasten the collar around the squirming cat's neck.

"Do you like your new collar Ser Pounce-A-Lot?" He cooed, "Do you feel like a fabulous kitty?"

To Gwenna he said, "Thank you, my dear. You are too sweet."

Gwenna presented him with the second gift. "Pick another one," she said, her eyes gleaming.

Anders narrowed his eyes questioningly and pointed to the remaining box.

"Good choice," Gwenna smiled.

Anders lifted the lid of the box to discover an exquisitely crafted gold hoop nestled into the velvet interior. He had been admiring an earring very similar to this one on their first trip through the Amaranthine market. Had Gwenna noticed that, or was this merely a coincidence? He noted that the hoop was crafted from the finest quality of gold and had been polished to a high luster. There appeared to be a design carved onto the inside surface. Anders picked the earring up to get a better look at it.

Upon closer inspection, he saw that the design was actually an engraving. Etched into inner surface of the ring was one word: **αγάπη**. It was the word for love, translated into the ancient Tevinter language; the language of magic.

All at once, Anders' heart was aloft. As simple as the gift may have seemed to an outsider, it was truly the most heartfelt and thoughtful gesture that had ever been bestowed upon him by anyone.

'_For the love of Andraste_!' Thought the mage, '_how does_ _this woman always know exactly what to do to set my soul afire?'_

"Gwenna, thank you," Anders said with all the force of emotion that his voice would convey. Though he longed to envelop her in a passionate embrace, he settled for a chivalrous kiss to her hand instead.

"Here. Let's see how it looks." Said Gwenna. She reached behind his ear and removed the backing of the silver stud he currently wore there. She then replaced it with the new gold hoop, her delicate fingers locking it gently into place. Then she took a step back. Gazing at the mage and his gold earring, Gwenna drew an involuntary breath. The hoop glinted in the sunlight and brought a warmth to his coloring that the silver stud had not. The earring may have been gold, but Anders was _golden._

"You are beautiful," Gwenna told him.

"Not nearly so much as you," said Anders. "You, my love, are absolute magic! And I should know."


	19. Walking the Line

Gwenna had been tied up for the better part of the day attending to the business of her Arling. The morning had been spent having audiences with petitioners, while discussion of policy with Seneschal Varel and Captain Garavel was slated to occupy the afternoon.

In the meantime, the rest of the Grey Wardens were enjoying a rare moment of leisure. Nathaniel had decided to use his downtime to engage in a bit of fox hunting. He had somehow managed to convince Oghren to tag along, but Anders had not been so inclined. Hunting for food was one thing, but killing for sport was not something the mage found entertaining in the least.

Left to his own devices, however, Anders couldn't figure out what to do with himself. He had taken to wandering the halls of Vigil's Keep, bored and listless. That's when he found Justice in the library, flipping through the pages of a journal, engrossed. Anders watched him for a moment, musing at the traces of emotion that seemed to pass across the spirit's face. That was an interesting development, the mage thought to himself. He crossed the room and joined Justice where he was seated by the fire.

"Hello, Justice. I hate to disturb your reading, but my curiosity is killing me. What is it that has you so enthralled?"

Justice raised his face to meet Anders' gaze. "Greetings, Mage. I am reading the journal of Kristoff, the Grey Warden. His thoughts are very enlightening. He had some fascinating theories about demons."

"Demons, eh? I should think that would be a subject on which you would be quite knowledgeable already," said Anders.

"And why is that, mage? Are you insinuating the I am a demon?"

"Well, no, but it does seem like there must be some sort of link between spirits and demons. I mean, after all, aren't demons just spirits with unique and sparkling personalities?"

Justice balked. "_Demons_ are evil! They have been perverted by their desires."

"Well if that is the case then, technically, _you_ could become a demon, could you not, Justice?"

Justice glared at him. "No."

"But you said that demons were spirits that had been perverted by their desires," countered Anders.

"I have no such desires," claimed Justice.

"You must have _some_ desires," Anders insisted.

Justice's tone grew defensive. "I have none!" He said brusquely. "Desist your questions!"

Anders regarded Justice with interest. Were all spirits prone to such sensitivity? "I apologize, Justice," he said. "I did not mean to suggest that you would become a demon. It's just that I wonder about the relationship between spirits and demons, as demons are a worry to any mage."

"I do not know what makes demons as they are. Such evil angers me!" The spirit growled.

"Well I hope you never come to understand it," said Anders seriously.

"And I as well mage," said Justice, "More than you could possibly know,"

Anders considered him for a long moment, noting the deep furrow in the spirit-warrior's brow. He reflected momentarily on the unexpected show of emotion and decided he couldn't let it go.

"There is one other small thing that has me curious, Justice."

The spirit sighed. "Speak, Mage."

_'He's exasperated with me,_' realized Anders, suppressing a grin.

"Well," said the mage, " unless, of course, I am completely mistaken, I can't help but notice that you've begun to express- emotion. I'm also pretty sure that this is a new development, yes?"

The spirit said nothing, but his face was guarded.

Anders continued, "In my experience, emotion is almost always tethered to desire, in one form or another. Forgive me for saying so, Justice, but I am a mite skeptical about your claim that you have no desires at all."

Justice's gaze darkened. He stared at the mage, unsure how to react. Finally he said, "You are observant to a fault, Anders. What you say is true. I am beginning to… feel things. I believe I am experiencing what you would call—longing."

"Longing," repeated Anders, astonished. "A longing for what, if I may ask?"

Justice's gaze fell to the gold hoop in Anders' ear. "For that which you posses, as a matter of fact." he replied.

"For an earring?" Anders asked, confused.

"Do not be droll, mortal," Justice rebuked him.

Suddenly, it dawned on Anders what the spirit must be referring to. "You mean love?" He offered.

Justice nodded. "Yes. That is what I mean. I can feel this emotion through you, Anders. Your passion for the elf is strong. I can taste its essence. I feel it also through the memories of Kristoff. I can sense the love he had for his wife. Her name was Aura, and he treasured her above all else." The spirit looked earnestly at the mage. "I have never sought anything other than justice, but I think should like to experience _this_. I would like to know what it is to love."

Anders appraised the spirit and, for once, his expression was entirely without guile. He said, "That is a noble desire, Justice. Love is the very best that mortality has to offer."

"And yet, from you, I gather that it is also tightly interwoven with anguish," commented Justice. "How can that be? In the Fade, opposing concepts such as these are very much separated from one another. Yet I can see within your consciousness that you have no such clear delineations. Is this specific to you, mage, or is this the way of the mortal world?"

"It is the way of the world, I'm afraid," sighed Anders. "The good and the bad are inextricably linked. We mortals spend most of our time trying to walk the line between them. Mostly, we are unsuccessful. One can only hope that he is stepping over onto the better of the two sides more often than not."

"I see," commented Justice.

Anders went on. "Love, is particularly precarious. Think of it like a holy relic, as it is both fragile and priceless. Even when you possess it, you will continually question whether or not you are worthy of it. And, Maker forbid, it were somehow to break, you could never, ever forgive yourself."

Justice appraised the mage, nodding. "You have great insight, my friend. I feel privileged for the opportunity to experience mortality through your eyes," he said. Then, "I sense that love is not the only thing you struggle with."

Anders gave him a self-effacing smirk. "I struggle with many things, Justice."

"I was referring specifically to your oppression," said the spirit.

"Ah, that," said Anders. "I don't know that I struggle with my oppression. I pretty much just avoid it. That's not quite the same thing, is it?"

"Why do you not strike a blow against your oppressors?" Inquired Justice. "Why not ensure that they can do this to no one else?"

"Because it sounds difficult?" Said Anders flippantly.

"Apathy is a weakness," chided Justice.

"So is death," said Anders, which inspired an irritated grunt from Justice. The mage shrugged innocently. "I'm just saying."

"I believe you have a responsibility to your fellow mages," insisted the spirit.

"Ah, so we're going to continue with this bit of self-righteousness. I am overjoyed," Anders snarked.

"You have seen oppression and remain free. You must act to free those who remain oppressed," continued Justice.

"I would not exactly call this freedom, Justice. It's more like borrowed time. The Chantry will come knocking sooner or later, and given the events that transpired in Amaranthine, I imagine it will be the former."

Justice frowned. "It is not right. They have no right to chain you this way, but you have an obligation. You cannot stand by and let this happen."

"Many things in this world are not right, Spirit. Welcome to life," Anders' reply was gravid with cynicism.

"You know, Justice has a point, Anders." Gwenna's voice piped up from behind him. He hadn't heard her come in, but Justice had clearly known that she was there.

_'Humph!' _Thought Anders, feeling exposed.

He turned to face the elf. "How long have you been standing there?"

Gwenna's smiled knowingly at him. "Long enough," she said.

Anders nodded, blushing. Not since he was a boy had anyone been able to elicit that kind of response from him, yet Gwenna was able to manage it on a regular basis.

The elf seated herself on a stool between them. "Seriously, Anders," she continued, "You should consider the options. A confrontation with the Chantry is unavoidable. Were you planning to just lay down on this?"

Anders raised his eyebrows. "Are you honestly proposing that we wage war on the Chantry? With precisely what army, Gwenna?"

"All I am saying is that our lives will be on the line, one way or the other, once this all catches up to us. If it comes down to fighting or running, I would rather go down fighting. Anders, really? Do you want to be on the run forever?"

The mage shut his eyes. He sighed heavily. "You know that I don't," he said.

"Then it's time to take a stand," she said. "You knew it would come to this one day. I don't care what you say, we both know that you were destined for this."

Anders snorted. "You give me far too much credit, Commander. I am nothing more than a wily apostate who has gotten very good at weaseling past consequence, or perhaps one who has just gotten extremely lucky. Either way, I am little better than a grifter, Gwenna. I am no Champion of the Magi."

Justice interjected. "Who is it that you seek to deceive, Mage? Your commander, or yourself?"

Gwenna eyed Anders suspiciously. "Do you actually expect me to believe that the Chantry allowed seven escapes attempts, without so much as a discussion about execution, simply because you're a smooth talker? This isn't my first dragon-quest, Anders. I've run across a mage or two in my time. Not one of them was even remotely as powerful as you are. Not _one_."

Gwenna's eyes bore into the mage, but he refused to look at her. She persisted.

" Do you want to know what I think, Anders? I think the Chantry hasn't killed you yet, because they can't kill you."

At that, Anders started. He cast a wary glace in the elf's direction, then promptly looked away again.

"I think," said Gwenna, "that the Templars have only been able to capture you because you have allowed them to. Tell me, Anders: Aside from killing Darkspawn, have you ever taken a life?"

Anders didn't answer her. He massaged his forehead as if it hurt him.

Justice answered instead. "I can sense that has not. There is no stamp of death upon his spirit."

Gwenna nodded, not taking her eyes off of the mage. Eventually Anders caved under the weight of her gaze. He raised his golden eyes to meet her umber ones. The two Grey Wardens stared at each other for a long time.

It was Gwenna who broke the silence. "I find it admirable that you have come as far as you have without the stain of blood on your hands. But I need to know Anders, are you willing to do what needs to be done in the name of justice? Can you make that sacrifice?"

"You're asking me to consent to becoming a murderer?" Asked Anders, galled.

"There is a difference between a murderer and a warrior, my friend," Justice reminded him. "Do you believe that your commander is one to dole out death idly?"

Anders considered Gwenna. He thought about the warehouse in Amaranthine, and about Rylock. He probed the depths of her eyes with his own, but said nothing. Finally he answered, "No. I don't."

Gwenna surrendered a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. _'So, Anders does have faith in me,'_ she thought.

"What is it that worries you, then?" She asked the mage.

Anders gnawed at his lower lip. His long fingers flexed and released. He looked from Gwenna to Justice and back again. His hazel eyes were haunted.

"What happens if we fail?"

"Then we die," said Gwenna bluntly.

Anders flinched, ever so slightly. Gwenna reached across the table and tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear.

"I think, however, that it behooves us to concentrate on what happens if we don't," she said.

"The commander speaks wisely," said Justice.

Anders nodded silently.

"So what's it going to be, dearest mage?" Gwenna prodded him gently. "Are you with us or aren't you?"

Anders sighed. Then, he gave her is best brave smile, a mischievous glint reclaiming its place in his eyes.

"Well, we _are_ Grey Wardens!" He said in his usual glib tone. "Fighting impossible battles is what we do, isn't it? Plus, I would relish an opportunity to really stick it to the First Enchanter. I always hated that bastard!"

Gwenna's grin reached all the way to her ears. Perhaps_ she_ was the one who needed to have a little more faith.

"Have I told you today that I love you?" She asked.

The mage placed his hand on top of hers. "And I you, my Darling Commander," he said.

Then silently, _'You have no idea how much.'_


	20. Walking the Mile

_For Anders and Gwenna:_

_Your breath on my skin was a dream on fire,_

_I had never known such passion,_

_That was not akin to pain. _

_Caught in a milky, still-frame luminescence,_

_Our moments shared, _

_Transcended linear emotion,_

_Each minute, hour, day,_

_Distilled to an essence of a feeling,_

_Like a divination,_

_Or a promise_

_Held within a primordial grain of sand, _

_That washed ashore,_

_On the beach of our creation,_

And was indelibly tangled between strands of red and gold,

_As we became united by the dawn_

_- (An excerpt from one of my own poems)_

_

* * *

_

When Nathaniel and Oghren returned from their hunt, the remaining wardens sat down with them for a much-needed chat. Gwenna had no idea what kind of reaction to expect, but the issue would have to be addressed sooner or later. The more quickly she was able to gauge where each of her companions stood, the more prepared she could be for the coming days. She had suggested they take their evening meal in private, so that they could speak freely without the nuisance of prying ears. Oghren and Nathaniel listened silently as Gwenna, Anders and Justice recounted the details of their prior conversation.

Nathaniel eyed the three of them dubiously. "So you're conspiring to take down the Circle of Magi?"

"NO!" Exclaimed Anders hastily. Then more calmly, "That is not the plan."

Gwenna looked at him, confused. "Wait—It isn't?"

Justice was likewise perplexed. "I thought the goal was to end the oppression of your fellow mages?"

Anders grew flustered. "It is. We are. Er- I think maybe we need to slow down."

"So wait," Oghren interjected, laughing_, "our _Twinkles wants to try and free _all _the twinkles?"

Anders and Nathaniel both shot the dwarf a look.

Nathaniel said to the mage, "Anders, why don't you explain your thoughts on the subject. I'm still a little unclear on the finer points of this proposition."

"Well I can tell you what the plan is not," Anders told him. "We are _not _seeking to destroy the Circle of Magi. Period. The end. Look, I may want no parts of the Circle myself, but I don't believe it should be eradicated completely. That would be bad."

"So the Circle is fine for other mages, just not for you. Is that it?" Nathaniel interrogated him.

" Let me explain. I believe that an organized collective of mages is beneficial, even necessary. I would just prefer that association with it were a bit more… voluntary. And that it garnered a lot more respect."

"Like the Grey Wardens, for example?" Nathaniel offered.

"Yes!" Said Anders, glad that Nathaniel seemed to understand his position. "Or the Templars, for yet another. Not that joining either is _always_ voluntary, but participation in them is not generally forced upon an entire subset of the populace, either. Don't get me wrong, there are some very devout mages who love the Circle, and would be loathe to leaving. Not all mages feel as I do."

"But for those who do, life can be very difficult," Nathaniel finished the thought for him. "I understand, Anders. However, just to play polemicist for a moment, what about the dangers of the magi? What about abominations?"

"The Chantry would have you believe that mages are turning into abominations day and night, when in fact it's a very rare occurrence. In all the years I spent at the Circle, it only happened one time that I knew about. And it's not something they could really hide from us, even if they wanted to." Anders explained.

"I see. I always did suspect that the Chantry was prone to exaggeration. Still, I am confused as to how you plan to go about this," said Nathaniel.

It was Gwenna who answered him. "We are not proposing that anyone go storming into the Circle Tower, or the Chantry for that matter, weapons laid bare. That's not what we're talking about here. We shall petition our cause civilly. We will not bring violence unless it is brought upon us first."

Oghren snorted. "Just when this was starting to sound like it could be fun, you had to go and say a thing like that," he grumbled.

Nathaniel asked, "Are we planning to go to Denerim, then?"

"If Denerim doesn't come to us first," said Gwenna.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at her wording. "You think there will be backlash from our incident in Amaranthine," he surmised.

Gwenna's smile was rueful. "I wouldn't rule it out," she told him. "I have explained everything to Varel. He's sending Captain Garavel to deal with the situation at Old Stark's Farm, that way he'll be safely out of the way if the hammer should drop."

"Why is it important to have Garavel out of the way?" Asked Nathaniel.

"Garavel is a good soldier, but he is—how do I put this? He is a purist," she decided. "I don't know that he wouldn't side against us."

" Yet you seem assured that Varel is backing us on this?" Anders sounded surprised.

"I believe that Seneschal Varel is loyal." Said Gwenna. "And if it turns out that he is not, well, what do we really have to lose?"

"Point taken," said the mage.

"So," said Gwenna, "Are we all together on this? Speak now…"

"You know I'm with ya' Commander. I just hope yer wrong about the fighting." Said Oghren.

Gwenna nodded. Thank you, Oghren. But you _will_ sit on your axe unless I say otherwise."

The dwarf muttered under his breath.

Gwenna looked to Nathaniel. "Nate?"

"I just have one last question." Nathaniel asked, "What about the Darkspawn? What happens if every Grey Warden in Ferelden is locked up in Denerim? Who deals with the horde?"

"Orlais has a large faction of Grey Wardens that I trained personally. If need be, Ferelden can turn to them."

"You would suggest we turn to Orlais to save Ferelden?" Nathaniel's tone held a note of outrage.

"Now you sound like your father," admonished Gwenna.

He gave the elf a hard look, but her point had been duly noted. Nathaniel looked toward Anders and the two men exchanged a contemplative glance. Finally, Nathaniel nodded.

"Thank you, Nathaniel," Anders said with more than a note of gratitude.

"I have come to realize that we are more alike than I was willing to initially admit, my friend," Nathaniel replied.

The mage flashed him a legitimately friendly smile.

"So, I guess that settles it," said Gwenna. "Not to get all sappy on you boys, but it does my heart good to know that my wardens stick together in a pinch."

"Don't you dare start getting all girly on me now, Commander!" Complained Oghren.

There was a ripple of uneasy laughter.

"So Commander, when _will_ the Royal Guard be arriving to apprehend us?" Asked Nathaniel, with a wry smile.

Gwenna colored, realizing she'd been unmasked. She smiled sheepishly. "You knew."

Oghren said, "Commander, with all due respect, do you think we're _slow_? You wouldn't have made arrangements with your seneschal unless you were sure that something was about to go down. You must be pretty damned convinced that we'll be dragged off the big house if you're taking such serious measures."

Gwenna regarded her companions. "I'm sorry," she said. "I should not have been so cagey about this. I just wanted to make sure that you all made your choices with clear heads about you. The truth is, one of Varel's scouts spotted the Royal Guard on the road about a day's journey from here. I don't know for sure what the reason is for their presence in Amaranthine, but I think it's safe to assume that someone in Denerim has put the pieces together. I can't imagine what other business they would have here. I think we should be prepared for the worst."

"I understand why you did that, Gwenna, but it wasn't necessary," said Nathaniel. "You are our commander. In one way or another we are all indebted to you. I believe I speak for everyone when I say that we will follow you, no matter what."

Gwenna frowned. "I don't want you to follow me because you feel like you owe me something."

It was Anders who spoke next. "Gwen, it isn't like that. You are constantly sticking your neck out for someone. _This_ isn't even your fight, remember? You have gone above and beyond to prove yourself worthy of our loyalty. How could we not do the same for you?"

Gwenna took Anders' face in her hands. "_You_ are my fight," she said. Then scanning the wardens, "You all are. I haven't seen my tribe since the day I was conscripted. I have no idea where my family is, or whether or not they even survived the blight. The Grey Wardens are all I've got. You are my family now. I would do anything for any one of you." If her voice cracked slightly, she managed to control it before anyone noticed.

Nathaniel closed the distance between them and encased Gwenna in a crushing hug, lifting her up off the ground. As he set her down, Anders came to join them.

"Oh Sod it!" cursed Oghren, unable to resist the urge to join in on the display of affection.

Justice looked on awkwardly.

Oghren called after him, "Come on, you big, lumbering corpse. It's not a group hug unless everyone participates!"

The spirit walked toward them and, tentatively added his embrace to the pile.

From beneath the heap of arms and bodies, Gwenna laughed, and it was a genuinely happy sound.

* * *

That night, Anders and Gwenna didn't even bother with the formality of retiring to separate bedchambers. The mage joined the elf in her quarters and the two of them made love as if it was the last time they would ever do so. It was not the furious, desire driven coupling that they had engaged in previously. This time, their lovemaking was slow and deliberate. Anders and Gwenna drank each other in, gazing passionately into one another's eyes as they united, savoring the indelible closeness of it. They clung desperately to each other, exchanging hungry caresses as if they might never touch again. Gwenna's limbs wound tightly around Anders' naked flesh and her fingers plunged into his golden hair. Anders did not stop kissing her. He worshiped Gwenna with his lips, over and over again, reveling in the sweet, honey-kissed taste of her flesh.

Even after they were long spent, the two lovers remained entwined. Anders enveloped the tiny elf in a close embrace, burying his face into the soft, fragrant cloud of her hair. Gwenna huddled into the warm planes of the mage's body, her worried mind quieted by the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

Sleep did not come easily to either of them. The two Grey Wardens lay silently in each other's arms, observing a long, wakeful silence. Occasionally, Anders would give Gwenna a reassuring squeeze and she would respond by pressing her lips into his skin.

Dawn was nearing when Anders finally fell into a restless slumber. As he lay awake, watching the night pass, the mage did something that he had not done in more years than he could remember. In the hours before sleep claimed him, Anders gazed toward the sky and prayed.

* * *

When the Royal Guard arrived at Vigil's Keep the following morning, The Grey Wardens were ready for them. They put up a united front of bravery as the king's battalion escorted them off the premises in shackles. Anders was at once impressed and heartbroken at Gwenna's unshakeable stoicism. As she was paraded through the streets of her own Arling, bound like a common criminal, he never once saw her so much as hang her head.

It had also not gone without notice, that King Alistair was conspicuously absent from the proceedings. It should not have been a surprise as, typically, the king had no obligation to accompany his envoy on a mission as inconsequential as the apprehension of a few criminals. These, however, were unique circumstances. Though no one said it aloud, the warden companions all shared the same thought. Regardless of the allegations against them, they were the king's own Grey Wardens and his absence among the Guard smacked of cowardice.

'_He really has shown exactly where his loyalties lie,'_ Anders brooded. '_You can take the boy out of the Chantry, but you'll never take the Chantry out of the boy.'_

With that thought in mind, Anders cast a glance toward Gwenna. She was so fiercely determined to set things right. It was an undertaking that would be nigh on impossible to complete successfully. Anders hoped beyond hope that he was wrong about Alistair, but the cold lump that had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach offered him little solace. Looking into the gray Ferelden sky, Anders made one more desperate entreaty.

'_Maker, if you indeed exist, I beg you with everything that I am, to spare the elf. If it is the only prayer you ever grant me, please, please, just spare the elf.'_


	21. Evidence and Discovery

_Sorry it took me so long to update! A combination of hectic scheduling issues and writers block held me up on this chapter for a while. I just couldn't seem to get it to come together cohesively. Anyway, I want to give a special shout out to jugalettePENNER and Miltonia for all your encouraging words with each chapter. It has not gone unnoticed. And, as always, thanks to everyone who has been reading, subscribing, reviewing, etc. Hope you enjoy this latest! _

Gwenna had no conception of what hour it was or even how much time had passed since she had been imprisoned in Denerim. She could no longer even count the days by the arrival of her meals, as they had stopped coming with any regularity once it was discovered that she had not been eating them. Nor did she have any idea where the other Grey Wardens had been taken. Upon their arrival at the Royal Palace, the Commander of the Grey and been separated from her companions and placed into a solitary cell deep in the bowels of the castle.

It felt like decades had passed since she'd had any kind of social interaction. The only people she had seen since her confinement had been the silent, hooded guards who sporadically delivered the colorless gruel that passed for food, and even more sporadically switched out the chamber pot. The warden commander's presence, however, was never acknowledged outright. They might as well have been cleaning out the stall of some caged beast, for that is most certainly what Gwenna felt as though she had become.

Presently the elf was amusing herself by feeding a mouse the stale remnants of her uneaten food. She put a small amount of the grain-based sludge into her hand and held it open for the rodent, who boldly climbed into her outstretched palm. She watched the tiny creature wistfully as it nibbled the small morsels then scurried off through a crack in the stone, back out into the wide world.

She sighed, her thoughts wandering for a moment to Anders. How had he survived, she mused, locked up like this for an entire year? How had he managed to keep his wits about him, having gone so long deprived of light and communication; without so much as a bath, or the comfort of another's touch? The Dalsih people had been subject to cruelty and oppression, but Gwenna had never borne witness to anything as barbaric as this. How could anyone, in good conscience, condone such treatment of another being? Why did anyone ever believe that such atrocities were carried out in the name of righteousness? Were people really so blind? She was suddenly overcome with a terrible hopelessness at the prospect of an unchanging future.

Gwenna was experiencing another melancholy as well, though she had been stubbornly pushing it out of her mind in hopes that it would eventually go away of its own accord. In truth, the pain had only nagged at her more persistently as the hours passed. It was an old wound, one that was almost healed, but had been opened anew, leaving a raw and bloody gash in the already weary flesh of her soul.

Despite her best defenses, thoughts of Alistair worried at the seams of Gwenna's emotions, threatening to splay them wide. After everything she and the king had shared, after everything Gwenna had given him, she could not wrap her mind around these present circumstances. How had this man allowed her to suffer yet another indignity at his hands? She was utterly devastated.

Gwenna remembered how Alistair had looked the last time she'd seen him. Standing in the courtyard at Vigil's Keep, preparing to ride forth for Denerim. The king had appeared unspeakably sad, like a beaten man. He'd had tears in his eyes as he said goodbye to her, telling her one last, helpless time that he loved her.

In the moment, Alistair's words had broken her heart, had left her feeling guilty and confused. Now, in retrospect, they made her angry. With a renewed sense of scorn, she thought about everything that had transpired between them. Mired in the darkness of her ossuary, it was as if the elf were viewing her past with a fresh pair of eyes. Why in Thedas had she ever let herself believe that she was at fault for his heartache? From the moment Gwenna had met Alistair, until the day she had departed Denerim, everything she had done, nay, everything she had _been,_ had been for him. She had supported him unwaveringly, when others would have questioned his competence and his strength. She had sacrificed everything save her soul to put him on the throne because she had been convinced that it was his destiny, and because she'd had faith in the inherent goodness of his character. Yet, despite it all, here she was, filthy and starving, withering in the confines of a dungeon at his behest. Alistair had not even afforded her the courtesy of an audience.

Though it was a blatant slap in the face, and it hurt her more deeply than she cared to admit, above all else, Gwenna was angry with herself. She felt intensely gullible and naïve. How could she have been so stupid? How had she allowed this man to forsake her, not once, but twice? Why couldn't the king just leave her to her happiness? Why must he continually deprive her of everything she held dear?

A suffocating despair claimed Gwenna and she felt bitter tears cascading hotly down her face. Her sobs echoed loudly into the emptiness of her stone prison. As she sat curled onto herself, head burrowed into her knees, she found herself desperately wishing for her life to become forfeit. It was all, finally, too much for the fallen hero to take. The last stolid tendrils of her resolve had been snipped at the quick, and she succumbed to the desolate abyss of her sadness.

She wept for her family and for her bygone youth among the Dalish. She cried for the days of the blight, and for the loss of her innocence. She wept for Alistair, whom she'd loved and lost, and for the subsequent death of her idealism. She cried for lives lost and injustices perpetrated. She cried over promises made and never kept. Most of all she wept for Anders, and for herself. She mourned the loss of her second chance at happiness, which she had stumbled into so unexpectedly with the spirited mage. The fire of their love was only newly ignited, yet its flame may yet be extinguished, just as quickly as its spark had been realized.

Had she done this? In a misguided attempt to avenge the man she loved, had Gwenna inadvertently signed the death sentences of all the Grey Wardens? The line between right and wrong had become so blurred in recent months that the Warden Commander no longer knew with any certainty which side she was even on. Perhaps she was a shameless criminal after all. Maybe death and dishonor was no more than what she deserved.

Gwenna lay back against the dank hardness of the cell wall and watched runnels of rainwater trickle down through the cracks in the mortar, resigning herself to the inevitability of her fate. Being a celebrated hero, it turned out, was just as fleeting a thing as anything else in life. Still, one truth prevailed: the higher a person managed to climb, the harder that same person would invariably fall.

Anders watched the king depart, unsure of what to make of their conversation. That is, if it could even be called a conversation. Alistair, for his part, had said very little. Mostly, he had just listened to Anders speak, interjecting periodically with a few terse questions, but giving no discernable response otherwise. His last line of questioning, particularly, had confused the mage a great deal. The king had inquired, with some depth, into the details of his relationship with Namaya. Anders had answered the king's questions honestly, as he could think of no reason why he shouldn't, but what bearing the information had on the outcome of his present circumstances, the mage was unable to figure.

Another point of contention was sitting ill with Anders as well. Whether intentionally or not, the king had let slip an alarming tidbit. He had referred to Namaya as Rylock's only witness. That is precisely how he had worded it- _'Rylock's witness'. _Why had he not said, 'the Chantry's' witness, or the 'Crown's witness'? Were the dead capable of having their own witnesses? Or, he wondered with a mounting dread, had that Templar fiend somehow survived? Something occurred to him that he had not thought of before. Had Namaya been present in the warehouse that night? Had she seen Gwenna's merciless display of brutality and come to Rylock's rescue? Suddenly, Anders' blood ran ice cold.

Gwenna was fighting off the disruptive images of an especially fitful sleep when she heard the cell door open. She sat up, rubbing her eyelids with her fists, trying to give her vision a chance to adjust to the brightness of torchlight. A figure had entered the cell, but she was unable, immediately, to make out specifics. As her eyes became acclimated to a brighter light than she'd seen in some time, the elf realized who it was.

"Alistair," she said numbly.

"Gwenna," he replied, a little breathlessly. "How are you holding up in here? Are you okay? You look very thin."

Gwenna's face darkened. "Alistair, if you were so worried about my well being why have you kept me down here for this long without so much as a proper audience with you? Have you become so beholden to the Templars that you are no longer able to see past their bias?"

"I apologize Gwenna," Alistair began, "I know how awful I must seem to you right now. It is important that I speak with you, however. About your fate, and about your mage."

Gwenna's anger flared. "I will not betray Anders to save my own life, if that's what you're suggesting! Despite what you think Alistair, Anders is a good man. One of the best, as a matter of fact. Nothing you say will turn me against him"

Alistair's expression was muddled with warring emotions. "I know," he said finally.

Gwenna started to protest then, realizing what he had said, stopped herself. "You what?" She asked dimly.

"I said, _I know_, Gwenna. As in, I agree with you. I am beginning to suspect that I have made a very grave mistake."

Gwenna could not contain her astonishment. Words eluded her.

Alistair continued. "I spoke with your mage earlier this evening. It was… enlightening, to say the least. You should know that he was willing to sacrifice himself to save you."

"Is that so?" She tried not to let it show on her face how much that statement caused her heart to flutter. "And what, pray tell, was your response?"

Alistair hesitated, fixing Gwenna with an appraising glance. Finally he answered.

"He tried to tell me that you had nothing to do with the murders. He told me that he used his magic to cloud your mind while he used your weapons to dispatch the Templars."

Gwenna nodded. Anders had suggested that alibi to her previously, though she'd had no intention of corroborating the lie.

Alistair continued, "Gwenna, I have seen Rylock's wounds. I know there is no way that mage made those cuts. As a matter of fact, there is only one person I know who is skilled enough with a dagger to exact that kind of precision. Also, you forget I was trained as a Templar. I read magical signatures, and the only thing I sense on you is healing magic, and perhaps trace amounts of some battle magic." He shook his head, perplexed at that last bit, but let it go.

Gwenna and Alistair stared at each other, unflinching.

Eventually Alistair said, "That man was ready and willing to die for you. When I was faced with the same choice, I compromised my morals to find a way around it. Not only am I compelled to agree with you that the mage is a good man, Gwenna, I believe that he is likely a better man than I."

Gwenna was silent for a long time, regarding Alistair with unadulterated shock, but also with a renewed respect.

Very softly she said, "I think you finally just became the man you're supposed to be, Alistair."

Alistair's smile was sad. He looked at her with a heart-wrenching tenderness. "It's a shame that it couldn't have happened sooner." Then, forcibly restraining his emotion he said, "There is one other point of business to discuss"

Gwenna furrowed her brow, puzzled. "What might that be?"

Alistair's face twisted. "I need to know _why_."

"Why? Why _what_, exactly?"

"Why did you murder Rylock so brutally? I cannot allow myself to believe that you would do something so heinous without good reason. So convince me, Gwenna. Why did you do it?"

Gwenna sighed heavily. She had serious reservations about spilling Anders' deepest secrets to his rival, but she realized in that moment it might be the only way to save him. Reluctantly, she divulged the gory details of Anders' sordid past with Rylock.

Alistair's listened intently, his eyes growing increasingly troubled as Gwenna spoke. When she had finished, the king nodded slowly.

"I see," he said. "That does explain some things."

Gwenna's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Alistair pursed his lips. When he looked at her his face was guarded.

"The elf, Namaya, do you know her?" He asked.

Gwenna felt herself bristle, but answered, "I know of her, yes."

"How much do you know about the extent of her relationship with your mage?"

"His name is Anders, Alistair," she corrected tartly. "I am aware that they were lovers, if that's what you mean."

Alistair nodded. "It would seem that Anders has a way of inspiring quite an intensive passion in those who know him, for better or worse. It seems that once her anger over their—situation- had waned, she had second thoughts about turning him into the Templars."

Gwenna sucked in a breath. Rage flared red-hot within her.

"Try not to judge her to harshly, Gwenna. A lover scorned is often prone to poor judgment and rash decisions, I should know," said Alistair ruefully. "In the end, she too came forward with some revealing information about Rylock. Though not to the extent of your confession, Namaya's testimony was likewise incriminating. It is clear to me now that the Templar was corrupt. I can't believe I didn't see it before. I had thought it odd that Rylock wore Anders' phylactery on a chain around her neck, like a souvenir almost, but I just pushed it aside. I suppose I was seeing only what I wanted to see."

"She kept Anders' phylactery on her person!" Gwenna cried, appalled. "Where is it now?"

Alistair hesitated. "It is still with her," he said.

"What?" Demanded Gwenna. "You mean it went with her to the pyre?"

The king would not look at her. "Rylock lives, Gwenna."

Gwenna felt the blood drain from her face. She was suddenly very glad to be sitting down.

"What did you say?" She hissed.

Alistair looked her in the eyes then. His voice was quiet.

"Rylock was rescued, Gwenna, by Namaya," he told her. " But, as I said, she had second thoughts about that in the end. It is my intention to set this thing right."

" By having Namaya testify against Rylock? " She asked. "The Chantry will not be easily convinced. Not with the Templar alive. We're still as good as dead."

The gaze the king bestowed upon the commander held a gentleness that was nearly painful. He took her small hand in his, eyes glistening with moisture."

"Gwenna, I owe you a thousand apologies," he said earnestly. "I realize now how selfish I've been. I know that I have set this tragedy in motion but I promise, it is not to late to see it undone. I understand that you no longer have any reason to do so, but I am asking you to trust me. I _will_ see this wrong righted, I swear it."

Gwenna looked the king square in the eyes, and her gaze held a challenge.

She said, "Don't tell me about it Alistair. Show me."


	22. Redemption

_I know it's been quite some time since I updated, sorry for that. Especially to those of you who subscribed and were reading as I updated. Life got in the way for a few weeks and then, well, DA2 was released. **(**_**_hangs head)_**_ I'm back now though, and I've got all kinds of new ideas. Hopefully some of you are still reading. _

Alistair dipped his quill into a pot of ink and penned the last few lines of a letter he had busy been composing for most of the evening. He then folded the parchment into fourths and tucked it into the folds of the sash around his doublet. Casting a glance toward the open window he assessed the sky, attempting to gauge the hour. The waning moon sat high in the heavens, and a profound silence hung over the castle grounds. It seemed not even an animal stirred within the depths of this night.

The king took up the decanter of whiskey from where it now resided on his desk and doused a stray piece of cloth with some of its contents, wiping the rag upon strategic surfaces around the room, dispersing the pungent smell of the spirit. He then returned to his seat, resting his head upon the desk. With eyes closed, he waited.

It wasn't long before he heard the queen's footsteps in the hall. There was a susurrus swish of her skirts as she approached, and though he instinctively wanted to look up at the familiar sound of fabric caressing stone, Alistair willed himself not to react as she neared. He concentrated on keeping his breaths shallow and even, forbidding his muscles to so much as twitch until he was certain Anora had concluded that her husband, once again, had succumbed to inebriation. After several agonizingly still moments, he heard her exit in a huff.

When he was sure that the queen had retired, Alistair exited the study and quietly made his way into the hall. He hugged the walls as he traversed the corridors of the palace, keeping his feet light on the stone so as not to make a sound as he walked. It was work for the king to maintain such a level of silence in movement. Though a masterfully skilled fighter, Alistair simply did not possess the lithe finesse required for covert operations such as the one he had presently embarked upon. It put him in mind of Gwenna, and it was not without a twinge of envy that he found himself, as ever, in humble awe the elf's roguish skills. In all things, she had been the yin to his yang.

When he reached the chamber he was looking for, he doused the torches in the sconces by the door and slowly engaged the latch. Rylock sat at her desk with her back to the door, pouring over a stack of documents. The Templar knight did not see the king as he entered her chamber nor, he was nearly certain, could she hear his footsteps as he sidled up behind her. She had sensed something, however, as she stiffened against her chair, shoulders going very straight and still as Alistair approached. There was a momentary pause as neither one of them dared to breathe. Then Rylock spoke.

"My king," she said huskily, "I knew you would come to me eventually."

Alistair froze. How had she known he was there? What did she mean, she knew he would come eventually? How had she known it was he who stood there? This was already not going as planned. He felt the sudden, panicky urge to abort his mission entirely.

Then, slowly, like a morning fog dissipating from the horizon, the king began to understand his advantage. He slid the hand that had been reaching for the inside of his boot silently upward toward where Rylock sat. Brushing away an errant lock of the Templar's hastily bound hair, he traced a reluctant finger along the pale line of her neck. He felt her skin erupt into gooseflesh at his touch, and for a moment Alistair paused, repulsed. Then, corralling his resolve, the king leaned in and nibbled at the curved arc above her shoulder, pinning her in place with a forceful hand at her ribcage.

She shivered and went limp against him, giving a small moan of pleasure at his ministrations. It was a sound that, under different circumstances, would have driven Alistair mad with desire. Presently, he could scarcely summon the mental fortitude to pretend. Though he doubted, given the nature of her position, that Rylock had much experience in amorous situations, she would certainly become suspect if he were to remain physically unresponsive. The king closed his eyes and willed his imagination to take flight.

The Templar twisted free of Alistair's restraining grasp enough to turn in her chair and face him. She assessed the king for a long, pregnant moment. The sight of him, standing in her bedchamber, the glorious pull of fabric straining against his swelling loins, was intoxicating. Blissfully unaware of the war that raged in the king's mind, Rylock misread the intent of Alistair's tightly shut eyes and white-knuckled grip on the back of her chair. Mistaking his reticence for piety she was all the more smitten with the king for his perceived attempt at restraint. She closed the distance between them by kissing Alistair hard on the lips. The king's eyes opened wide with surprise and he instinctively moved to push her away.

"Your Majesty," Rylock protested, "while I appreciate your consideration for my modesty, I am no less a woman for being a Templar. You were raised in the Chantry, were you not? Desire can be as dangerous a thing as the Magi, if left unchecked. This you already know. It drove you into the bed of that heathen Dalish elf. But I do not believe that Andraste herself would deny two pious souls such as ourselves the comfort of one another's touch."

In that instant, something red-hot flashed behind Alistair's eyes, and before he was even aware of his actions he had Rylock out of her chair and was flinging her onto the bed with all of his strength. Fueled by the ugliness of her comment, and the image of his own hypocrisies reflected in her words, Alistair was able to channel his rage into a kind of angry, hate filled lust. He was on top of her, pinning the Templar down forcefully by the shoulders and grinding his pelvis into her. With a free hand he tore viciously at her clothing.

_"Sire!"_ Rylock purred up at him, her face somewhere between a smirk and a leer.

She had goaded him into this, Alistair realized suddenly. It was, in fact, he who had misread her. No innocent Templar was this one. She had solicited this reaction from him. As he looked down at her, his attention fell to the red vial dangling from the chain at her neck. Anders' phylactery, nestled in it's permanent home between her breasts.

_'You sadistic whore!'_ Alistair thought, his fury settling into a slow, seething angst.

He pulled himself free of his breeches and entered her roughly. His hand at Rylock's shoulder, which held her immobile, now moved to grasp her by the throat.

"That's right," the king growled at her between savage grunts and thrusts, "I am your _king_! And you will serve _me_, Templar!"

Despite Rylock's obvious pleasure with his angry enthusiasm, Alistair took no joy in using her body in this fashion. In fact, he had not intended to lie with her at all, even after she had made her intentions clear. Yet, somehow, a bitter, ruthless force drove him onward. It was not until the king had followed his course of action through to its surprisingly powerful conclusion that he was able to concentrate the true task at hand.

It was several moments after he'd finished with Rylock that Alistair remained inside of her, spent and reeling. He was disturbed at the unbridled force of his climax, and at himself. It was a subject that he would, no doubt, brood heavily upon later. Forcing himself to recover, however, he grabbed Rylock by the hair and yanked her to her feet.

"My lord!" she exclaimed with a lascivious sneer, "you are an eager beaver, aren't you?"

Alistair chuckled low in his throat. He shoved the woman up against the wall hard. Pressing her face into the stone with a palm to the back of her head, he spoke closely into her ear.

"I know about you." He said, his face mere inches from hers, his voice a velveteen veneer of calm, "I know what a corrupt bitch you are, and you shall have no more of my sympathies. I hope you enjoyed this little taste of power, Templar. It will be your last."

Rylock hadn't noticed Alistair drawing the dagger from his boot as he spoke, but she felt its sting as he drew the newly sharpened blade across the quivering swell of her jugular. Her body convulsed against his, for a wholly different reason than it had done just moments prior. Hot blood spurted from the wound onto the king's hands and forearms. This time, Alistair had no need of his imagination to help sustain the throbbing ache in his groin.

Before departing her chamber, Alistair located some of Rylock's clothes that were not in shreds. He soaked them in the pooling blood on the stone and then dressed her in them, arranging her body near the wall to look as though she had perished by her own hand. He used the discarded, ruined garments to clean the blood from his person. Then he retrieved the letter hidden in the sash of his doublet and tossed it into the pile of papers on her writing desk. He gave himself one last appraisal in the looking glass by her bed, just to be sure that he looked again like King Alistair, and not like the brutal murderer that he was. Mostly convinced, he stole out into the night.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

By the time Alistair reached the dungeons it was almost dawn. He would have to be quick about this last leg of his errand, lest someone see him and ask questions. Luckily, the guard that stood watch outside of Anders' cell was fast asleep when the king arrived. Normally, Alistair would have his guards flogged for such blatant neglect, but tonight it was a blessing. The fortunate guard would never realize how much so.

Alistair undid the lock and quietly pushed open the door to the mage's cell. Anders had likewise been asleep, but sat at wakeful attention when the king entered. Years on the run had taught the mage to become a light sleeper.

Anders said nothing, but his eyes did not stray from the king. There was a strange air about the man, a sort of faraway look in his eyes that Anders could not identify. It seemed almost as if he could sense magic on Alistair, a magic that was nearly undetectably faint, but somehow vaguely— familiar?

Alistair also said nothing as he approached, but regarded Anders for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Eventually, he extended his hand to the mage, opening his clenched fist to reveal a silver chain and a small glass vial filled with a rusty colored liquid.

Anders felt all the blood drain from his face and his eyes became large round disks against the stark whiteness of his skin. He stared at Alistair in stunned disbelief, unable to move from where he sat. The king still said nothing, but nodded at Anders to take the amulet. The mage was reluctant, unsure entirely whether it was because he suspected a trap, or because he had dreamed of this moment for so long that he didn't know how to handle the reality of it. Timidly, he reached out and touched the small glass container, his breath becoming a hiss as he watched its contents change, emitting a fiery glow that illuminated the tiny cell with a red incandescence.

Anders felt the blood in his veins respond in kind to the luminsecent beam of the phylactery. He marveled at the dueling sensations, one from without and other from within, separate and yet oddly the same. Anders looked at Alistair and then again at the phylactery. Then he reared back and threw the thing as hard has he could, watching its contents blossom onto the stone wall opposite his cell as miniscule shards of glass tinkled to the floor.

Both men stood silently, watching the red stain spread on the rough granite. Alistair turned to Anders, nodding. Anders returned the gaze, and the nod. Then, as wordlessly as he'd come, the king departed, leaving the door to the mage's cell unlocked in his wake. Anders eyed the key still resting in the locking mechanism and considered his options.

It was not a trap. That phylactery had been his, beyond a shadow of doubt. Had been. Was no longer. His phylactery was… _gone_. The king had set him free. It was Alistair's version of a white flag, a truce. Anders paced the small space of his cell a dozen times, unsure how to proceed. Finally, he placed the key back on the hook by the still sleeping guard and shut the door behind him. Then he settled back onto his cot, returning to the slumber from which he had been so unceremoniously interrupted. As the palace erupted that morning into a frenzy of commotion, Anders slept more soundly than he'd ever slept in his entire life.


	23. Freedom

Gwenna was chasing away the last hazy tendrils of sleep when she heard the latch to her cell click open and a guard entered. Initially she expected to see that he was delivering her morning meal, as Alistair had insisted they resume providing her food regularly, regardless of whether or not she chose to eat it. Surprisingly, the guard didn't appear to be carrying anything. She eyed him curiously.

"Good morning, Commander," he addressed her formally. Odd. "I am happy to report that I come bearing good news. On the king's express orders, the Grey Wardens have been exonerated of all charges and are to be released immediately."

For several moments Gwenna was speechless. She opened her mouth and closed it soundlessly, unable to articulate in any coherent manner.

The man nudged her gently. "You're free to go, Messere."

"I…erm…but why?" Gwenna stammered.

"Well, interesting thing, that," explained the guard. "Word is that the Templar, Rylock, was found dead in her chamber this morning. I don't have all the details, but they say she left a tome of suicide note. Incriminating stuff, as I hear it. Nasty little thing set you and your Wardens up something awful. That mage of yours, in particular."

Gwenna stared at him incredulously. " And the king?" It was the only thing she could manage to say.

" I don't know for sure where he is. It's still early enough that you might find him in the dining hall."

"Yes. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Nothing against the Templars, but I always was rooting for the Grey Wardens. Good luck to you, Commander."

Gwenna stopped to smile at the guard. "Thank you. Your support is appreciated more than you know."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Gwenna made her way hastily to the dining area where she found the palace abuzz with gossip. The din momentarily ceased as she entered, all eyes on the elf as she made her way through the hall. Several people were cheering and clapping, a few assailed her with insults and derisive cat calling, but most simply stared. Gwenna chose to ignore the lot of them, her mind focused on finding Alistair and getting to the bottom of this unlikely turn of events.

The king was nowhere to be seen but, to her indescribable relief, Gwenna spotted her Wardens congregated at the far end of the hall. She broke into a dead run at the sight of them, clearing the distance in a few long strides. She embraced each of her companions heartily.

"You are a sight for sore eyes, Commander!" Exclaimed Oghren, squeezing the petite woman to within an inch of her life.

Gwenna laughed warmly, a rich, musical sound. "You are _all_ sight a sight for my sore eyes! What a nightmare this has been!"

"I've seen worse," said Nathaniel with a wry smile. "After all, it's not really an adventure unless a dungeon comes into the mix at some point or other."

"Why, Nate", Gwenna grinned at the uncharacteristic show of humor, "I do believe you're taking a page from Anders' book!" Then, a realization dawned on her. "Nate, where _is_ Anders?"

"Not to worry, my girl," Nathaniel assured her, "No harm has come to your dearest love. He is merely still asleep."

Gwenna's brow furrowed. Still sleeping? That was odd. Anders was not a sleeper. In fact, he was typically the last to bed and the first to rise.

"It struck me as odd to me too, Commander," commented Oghren, gauging her perplexed expression. "When the guard couldn't rouse Anders, the king ordered him to let the mage lie. Alistair seemed surprised to hear that Anders was in his cell at all, which seemed strange. Where else would he be?"

"Where else, indeed?" Gwenna mused. Something about this whole situation wasn't sitting well with the Warden Commander at all.

Then Justice interjected, "I felt an unusual surge of magic from Anders during the night. It was only a flash, so more than that I cannot say, but something transpired, that much is certain"

A sudden sense urgency overcame Gwenna.

"I need to find Alistair," she said.

"I believe he said he would be taking his meal in his study," Nathaniel informed her. "His Majesty is in conference with his advisors, but I doubt he would turn down an audience with you."

Gwenna nodded. "We shall reconvene later, then."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Upon reaching the king's study, Gwenna entered without knocking. Alistair's advisors, though startled and wary, said nothing to contest the intrusion. The king himself seemed to vacillate somewhere between desperation and relief at the sight of her. A dark wave of emotions passed across his face for before he was able to collect himself.

"Leave us," he commanded, managing to keep his voice from wavering and betraying the inner turmoil so apparent in his eyes. That is, if one knew what to look for.

When they were alone, Gwenna eyed the king intently.

"So, Rylock committed suicide last night. Or that's the word on the street, anyway."

Alistair would not meet her gaze.

"A chambermaid found her this morning," he told her, either missing her flippant attempt at humor or ignoring it. "She apparently slit her own throat. There was a note, several pages long. She… ah… confessed. To everything."

Gwenna's eyes narrowed. "Yes, that sounds just like her," she commented dryly. "Now, are you at all interested in telling me what really happened?"

Alistair shot her a sideways glance and looked quickly away again. Something tumultuous lurked within his eyes, something he did not want Gwenna to see. Unfortunately for the king, the elf knew him far too well. Though it felt like eons had passed since the two of them had been lovers, or really even friends for that matter, Gwenna could still read every twitch in Alistair's expression, every flicker of shadow that rippled across the molasses pools of his eyes.

"Alistair, you don't have to pretend," she said gently, "not to me. I know how hard it must have been for you to do what you did. Believe me when I tell you that you have my undying gratitude."

Alistair slammed his fist down on the desk, causing its surface to rattle. "You have no idea what I've done! Or what I am! Don't presume to think you understand me!"

"Alistair—"

"No! You have no _idea_. I am no better than Rylock was, Gwenna. No less corrupt than she, no less depraved."

Gwenna chewed at the inside of her bottom lip and took a deep, measured breath. She had never seen the king's anger get the better of him like this.

"Alistair, right and wrong are not absolutes. You understand that don't you? Reality exists in grayscale. To reduce your concept of morality to black and white is limiting at best. You will drive yourself mad if you don't start allowing your conscience some measure of leeway."

The king looked at her then, torment and self-loathing palpable in his gaze. "What is happening to me? What have I become, Gwenna?" His tone was inconsolably sad.

"A man," said Gwenna decisively, "with flaws and uncertainties, just like the rest of us. Mages don't have the market cornered on demons, you know. Theirs may manifest with a touch more flair, but we've all got them. No one is immune, not even you."

"I have been very selfish," said the king after a long pause.

The elf nodded. "It's okay," she told him, and realized that it was the truth.

Alistair managed a strained smile.

"Your mage won't be bothered by the Templars anymore," he said. "When Anders wakes, you are both free to go."

"The phylactery," replied Gwenna, the connection becoming clear. "Is that why Oghren thought you seemed surprised to find Anders still in his cell this morning?"

Alistair nodded solemnly. "I continue to underestimate him, it seems. Perhaps it is because I keep wishing that he deserved it."

"It's big of you to admit that," she said. Then, "we're not going to leave you high and dry, Alistair. The Grey Wardens will remain with you for as long as you have need. You came through for us. We will not abandon you now."

"The Grey Wardens have more pressing matters to attend to. I can handle things here. It is my mess to clean up, after all."

Gwenna took a moment to consider the man before her.

"You may not be the unblemished hero you wish to be, Alistair," she said, "but you are becoming the king that you need to be."

The shaken man sighed audibly. "By the Maker, I hope you are right. Know that whatever happens, Gwenna, I will always love you."

"And I you, Alistair." replied Gwenna, her tone more than a little regretful. " I hope you understand that I truly do mean that. It just… it just isn't…"

Alistair's nodded and it was heavy with defeat. "Yeah."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Following her audience with Alistair, Gwenna decided to treat herself to a hot meal and a long bath before attending to any other matters. Fed and refreshed, she now made her way across the courtyard back toward the common area of the palace. As she neared the castle, the elf was surprised to discover Anders, sitting alone in the royal garden despite the chill air, gazing at the dead rosebushes with a contemplative stare.

The mage raised his head at the report of footsteps on the cobblestone path. Realizing who approached, he was on his feet instantly. Gwenna covered the yards between them in a full sprint, flinging herself into Anders' arms as she reached him. She buried her face into the feathered collar of his robe, murmuring his name repeatedly as she assailed the salty skin of his neck with kisses.

"Anders, Anders, Anders…"

The mage breathed a long sigh into Gwenna's hair, clutching her tightly.

"Maker, I have missed you!" he exclaimed.

"Thank you for not running," she mumbled into the fabric of his clothes, only now realizing the magnitude of her relief.

Anders gripped her by the shoulders and pushed her far enough away that he could look into her eyes.

"So you know?"

"Alistair told me," she informed him.

"You spoke with him. What did he say?" The mage demanded.

"Not much, to be honest. Only that you had been freed, and that Rylock would no longer be a bother to us. I couldn't even get him to admit outright that he had killed her, though we both know that's what happened."

"Yes," Anders mused, "whatever transpired, the king is keeping it very close to the vest. He said nothing when he visited me last night. He simply handed me my phylactery and left. There was a very unsettled look about him, though. It was… bizarre."

"Alistair is struggling with himself. But there is no help that can be provided him, I'm afraid, save that which he might deign to give himself," she said.

"I see. Shall we throw him a welcome party into the club, then?" Said Anders sarcastically.

Gwenna shot him a look.

"I don't mean to appear uncharitable. I owe the king my life for what he did. I suppose that's yet another club he can join," he added, frowning.

Gwenna took the mage's face in her hands. Her words were stern, but she kept her tone innocuous.

"I think maybe it's time we all stop thinking about who owes what to whom. I feel like great changes are on the horizon and it seems as though we might finally all be on the same team. Perhaps we should start clinging to that instead of finding reasons to keep ourselves divided. Our unity may prove to be the only thing we have to hold on to in the coming days"

Anders gave her a long, considering look. "No doubt, you are right," he said. "The contention between the Chantry and the Magi doesn't end here. I'm not naïve enough to believe that. It is good, however, to know that we have the king of Ferelden on our side."

"You know, Anders, as unbelievable as this may sound to you, I do believe he always was. He just didn't know it yet."

The mage smiled. "That may be the thing I love best about you, Gwen."

"What do you mean?"

"You always find a way to see the good in everyone."

"I couldn't find any good in Rylock," she pointed out.

"I believe that says more about her than it does about you, my love," he said.

Gwenna smiled warmly, wrapping her arms around the mage's waist.

"What would I do without you?"

"Have a lot more downtime and far fewer headaches?" Anders offered.

"Nor would I have to worry about finding sandy blond hairs wound into the rivets of my armor," she laughed. "You shed worse than a dog!"

"Aren't you the one responsible for taking me to the groomer?" He joked.

"No, you're too unruly for the groomer," she teased. "They tell me you bite! In fact, I think it's high time we put you in obedience training."

"Ah, now that could be interesting," retorted Anders with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Gwenna glared at him with feigned consternation. "Don't give me any ideas."

The mage laughed from deep within his abdomen. His grin was wide and unrestrained and his hazel eyes sparkled like two bright gems. In that moment, walking arm in arm with Gwenna along the paths that led back to the royal palace, drunk on freedom and love, Anders' problems seemed very, very far away. It was a moment that would stand out in the mage's mind for a long to come. Years later he would return to the memory of that day, cherishing it always as one of the happiest of his entire life.


	24. Broken Spirit

_Once again, I would like to extend my gratitude to everyone who has been reading, subscribing, favoritng, etc. Special thanks to **Miltonia** and** BlackBaccaraRose** for your continued reviews and also to **Merilsell** for adding this story to her community: **Elvhenan: Keeper of the Lost Lore- Mahariel's story.** The continued support is extremely encouraging! I am actually going to be wrapping this story up pretty soon, but I already have another rumbling around in my head. It will be a continuation of this one, but I plan to also explore some of the characters from DA2. That one, I suspect, will end up being much longer. Ok. Done rambling. :P_

The following day Alistair called an assembly, during which he granted the Grey Wardens formal acquittal of all the charges held against them. He went on to publicly expose their so-called crimes as an elaborate hoax perpetrated by a small faction of Templar radicals who distrusted the Grey Wardens for their tolerant stance on non-circle mages. These were fundamentalists, the king explained, led by none other than Rylock herself, who misguidedly believed that the Wardens were undermining the righteousness of the Chantry's religious cause. He was adamant in his disapproval for what he termed "unenlightened zealotry", and was stern in his warning against the kinds of abuses outlined in Rylock's 'suicide note'. He vowed to launch a full internal investigation into the Circle of Magi, insisting that Templar misconduct would, under no circumstances whatsoever, be tolerated.

It was such a thoroughly airtight and convincing alibi that Gwenna herself nearly believed it. The Warden Commander was amazed at how easily the lies came to Alistair's lips. It was so completely diametric to everything she knew of him, yet he played the part infallibly, a true politician. A nearly indiscernible tightness at the corners of his eyes was the only indication that the king was anything less than entirely at ease with his actions. Gwenna, suddenly overtaken by a wave of guilt, fretted absently at her bottom lip with her teeth.

Justice, as though reading her thoughts from her expression, regarded the elf. "The king's actions serve the greater good. Justice has, indeed, prevailed this day," he said.

"Has it?" Gwenna asked him soberly. "And if so, at what cost? Alistair will never forgive himself for this. I know him well enough to know that. It will eat at his soul for the rest of his days."

"He is a king," replied Justice, " It is his duty to ensure that justice prevails for the sake of his people. He should understand better than anyone that always with such responsibility comes some measure of sacrifice."

"Perhaps," said Gwenna, "but who decides which is which?"

To that, The Spirit of Justice did not have an answer. He eyed her momentarily with a curious expression and then looked at the ground. Gwenna realized that the spirit was, as they all were, struggling with his identity. Stranded outside of the Fade, far removed from his familiar realm of absolutes, Justice was failing to define himself in a way that made sense within the ambiguous constructs of the mortal world. She wondered what that would mean for him in the future. Could he find a way to reconcile the two, or would he become perverted by the mortality that had been forced upon him? Could any being escape the taint of this imperfect world?

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

After all the brouhaha had settled down at the Royal Palace, it was back to business as usual for the Grey Wardens. The newly sentient Darkspawn had not disappeared in their absence, and there was still plenty of work to be done in terms of silencing the threat of this sinister horde.

The Wardens returned briefly to Vigil's Keep in order to make preparations for what would likely become a rather extended sojourn into the Deep Roads. They planned to stay on no more than a couple of days, just long enough to get their affairs in order and, frankly, to enjoy a couple of much deserved nights in their own beds before heading out again.

There was to be little quiet relaxation for the Grey Wardens at their home base however, as messenger horses had clearly traveled faster than their own. The Keep was overrun with loitering citizens, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the Arlessa and her Wardens, and to perhaps find an opportunity to strike up a conversation and become privy to some juicy and yet unrevealed tidbit of their debacle with the Templars.

Gwenna and company had spent the better part of their evening in the dining hall, enjoying large tankards of ale and fielding questions from the eager mob. More often than not this meant deflecting them as politely as they could manage, but Oghren was feeling just loose enough to let the story slip to a degree that would keep the people entertained without erroneously incriminating anyone. He was a good story teller as it turned out, a trait that dwarves were often credited with, but none of the Wardens, not even the commander, had ever witnessed it in Oghren until now.

It was proving to be a good time, actually. In a rare moment of social aplomb, they had all managed to drop their guards and even Nathaniel was chatting up the common folk with an easy grace. Justice, Maker bless him, had roped a well-dressed but obviously druken man into a debate on the inequities of the class system in Ferelden. Anders nudged Gwenna and directed her attention thither with an evil smirk.

"Poor sod never knew what hit him!" The mage said, laughing impishly.

Gwenna grinned and shook her head. The Spirit of Justice, having a drunken debate about the immorality of men, all the while inhabiting a stolen body that was preserved by a magic only just shy of necromancy. There had to be some irony in there somewhere.

The elf was still snickering at the idea when the harsh reality of that irony walked right up to the table addressed her by name.

"Pardon my intrusion, Messere, but you are Gwenna Mahariel, commander of the Grey Wardens, are you not?"

A tall, attractive woman with pale blond hair and large blue eyes approached her. She was overly thin and her face wan, but Gwenna was still able to recognize her. This was the woman depicted in the portrait in Kristoff's locket. It was Aura, his wife.

Gwenna cast a furtive glance toward Justice to see if he had noticed her. He had. The spirit had stopped talking mid-sentence and his face had gone utterly slack. His eyes did not stray from the woman that had been the love of the man whose form he now inhabited. Lucky for all of them, the glamour charm that Anders had fashioned for Justice kept Aura from recognizing the body that had once belonged to her husband.

Gwenna turned her gaze back to the woman before her.

"I am Gwenna of the Grey Wardens, yes."

"Ah. Good. I was hoping it was you," the woman stammered. "My name is Aura. My husband is Kristoff, one of your Wardens. It's been almost two months since I've received one of his letters, which is very unlike him. He always writes to me diligently. No one I've spoken to seems to have any information on him at all," her voice began to crack, "I finally decided to travel to Vigil's Keep. Someone here must know something. He couldn't have just up and disappeared!"

Large, sodden tears had begun to tumble down Aura's gaunt cheeks, her features morphing into a twisted work of patent anguish. For the first time since they had left Blackmarsh, Gwenna began to question her decisions with regard to the Spirit of Justice. Seeing this woman's heartbreak was almost too much for the elf to bear, particularly since the reanimated corpse of the husband this woman pined for sat, skillfully disguised, but feet away from them.

While she had no intention of complicating matters by exposing Justice for what, or whom, he really was, Gwenna felt that she had to do something to help ease this woman's pain. There must be some way to give at least a modicum of closure to the wife of a man who had died in service of the Grey Wardens. It was then that the Commander of the Grey had an idea. She took Aura's frail hand in her own. The gaze the woman fixed on her was heavy with an achingly desperate plea.

"Kristoff was a good man," Gwenna told her gently, "what little I knew of him. I regret to tell you that he perished to the Darkspawn, in the Blackmarsh. He died bravely, though."

Aura's tears now became wracking, audible sobs. Through her weeping she said, "I knew that he was gone. I could just feel it. It is a relief to finally hear it for truth. I only wish I'd gotten a chance to say goodbye."

"Sadly, we were unable to transport his body, as our travels were lengthy. We did our best to preserve his memory with a special ritual of our own," Gwenna half lied, chastising herself for the cleverly worded misdirection. "If you wish, I will speak to the sisters in the Chantry. We can hold an official service for him before we depart for the Deep Roads."

The woman's gratitude was palpable. "You would do that?" She breathed.

"I can think of no better way to honor one of our own. I will begin the arrangements first thing tomorrow."

Aura smiled weakly. "Thank you, Commander. That would mean a great deal to me and to his family. I will send a courier to them with the message tonight."

"One other thing," Gwenna caught Aura's arm as she was walking away, "Kristoff kept some possessions with him that I thought you might like to have. There was a journal, some of your letters, a locket…"

Aura's eyes widened. "You have these things with you? You kept them? Forgive me Commander, but if you knew of me, why did you not attempt to contact me?"

Gwenna rubbed suddenly sweaty palms onto the fabric of her breeches. How had she not anticipated this? The poor, wretched woman. She had done nothing to deserve her suffering. Gwenna chose her words carefully.

"My sincerest apologies to you, lady. The Grey Wardens have only just returned to Vigil's Keep. It has been a tumultuous journey."

Aura hung her head. "I am sorry too, Commander. I did not mean to be selfish…"

"Not at all," insisted Gwenna. "The least you deserve is closure. Your husband died valiantly in service of both the Grey Wardens and of Ferelden. He was a hero in his own right. Justice, would you be so kind as to retrieve Kristoff's belongings for his wife, please?"

She turned to the spirit who opened his mouth as if to protest and then, ultimately, thought better of it. Gwenna's brow furrowed. She was unsettled by the frequency with which Justice was outwardly expressing emotion. Spirits were pure entities and should not be susceptible to such selfish mortal leanings. For reasons she could not fully articulate, it bothered her immensely.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Two days later a memorial service was held at Vigil's Keep, not only for Kristoff, but for all of the Grey Wardens who had perished to the Darkspawn during their attack on the arling. Gwenna had decided that it was important to officially honor all the men and women who had given their lives defending Amaranthine from the threat of the horde. It occurred to her that the Wardens who fell at the battle of Ostagar had never been thusly honored and she made a mental note to discuss this with Alistair the next time she had an audience with him.

In the meantime, the Warden Commander did her best to ensure that this haphazardly thrown together service did as much justice as possible to the Wardens who had served so bravely.

It was a solemn day all around and none was more somber than Justice. He had spoken little since the appearance of Aura, and though he admittedly shared the sentiment that this memorial service was a fitting gesture, he continued to brood. It wasn't until well after the conclusion of the service, when the Grey Wardens were finally able to break away from the crowd and take a private salon, that the spirit finally spoke.

"This body does not belong to me. I have no right to lay claim to it. I cannot continue on this way."

His companions turned to him with questioning looks. It was Anders who replied.

"If not this body, Justice, then would it not be some other? Do you not require a corporeal vessel to survive here?"

"It is not a matter of survival," Justice answered, "I will inhabit whatever vessel is most readily available to me. It is not a voluntary occurrence. However, if a creature were to offer itself to me, to—cohabitate—that would be something different."

"Cohabitation with a living being? Is that even possible?" It was Nathaniel's turn to inquire.

"It would require some powerful magic," said Justice, "but I believe it is possible."

"What you're suggesting," mused Gwenna, "Is it not alarmingly akin to possession?"

Justice balked at the comment. "It is not the same thing! I am not a demon!"

Gwenna and Anders exchanged a wary glance.

"So how would it work then, if you were to inhabit a sentient being, one with it's own mind and will?" Anders inquired.

Justice frowned thoughtfully, then replied, "I do not know for certain, mage. I cannot say whether or not I would remain a separate entity or simply become incorporated into the personality of the creature I inhabit. Either way I would still exist, in one form or another. At least I would have the solace of knowing that it was a consensual merger."

Anders was pensive. "Justice, what exactly are you getting at? Why do I get the feeling that you are asking me if I will join with you?"

"We share a bond already, as a result of the ritual you performed to preserve this body. It seems the most logical choice for this course of action. I have been given the opportunity to see into your mind and I know you to be a man of noble intentions. Perhaps we can help each other," said Justice.

Anders was quiet for a long moment, considering the spirit's unlikely proposal.

Finally he said, " I don't know about this, Justice. It's not a small thing you're asking of me and I'll admit, I'm more than a tad conflicted. Then again, what else is new, right?" He flashed his familiar, rueful grin. "I promise you I will think on it, my friend. For now, that is the best I can offer."

"Then I have no choice but to accept. I am grateful that you are willing to consider it," said Justice.

Gwenna, who was suddenly sticken with an overwhelming sense of foreboding, did her best to keep her expression neutral. Internally she said a fervent prayer, to whatever Gods might be listeneing, that this subject would not come up again.


End file.
